A Way To Help
by MaiTai1327
Summary: After Jack Crawford is finally convinced of Will's innocence, he cooks up a plan to try to exonerate the man. His surprising idea is about Will trying to trick Doctor Lecter with an unanticipated method into giving away proof. But, the execution of the plan soon takes an unexpected turn. Happens after season 1. Hannibal/Will, slash (and some Chilton/Lounds)
1. Chapter 1

**Thanks so much to ****Jennyyu73 for the wonderful betawork.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Plan**

The doors are closing behind Jack Crawford, each with a loud bang, as he walks through the corridors of the institute with determined steps. The air is filled with the foul, pungent odor of medicines. An eerie, uncontrollable laughter echoes through the place, sifting from a distant, locked room.

He turns to the left at the end of the passage and enters a room not different from an interrogation chamber at a police station. He chooses the chair opposite the door, although all available seating options seem equally inconvenient with the cold iron racks holding the uninviting, cracked wooden pieces together.

Crawford sits down with a resigned sigh. He wonders how long it may take for the guards to escort Will here from his cell. Maybe he should have bought a cup of coffee from the black, glossy snack machine by the entrance of the building.

Jack did not visit Graham in the last few weeks because he hates to see the man in chains with the lifeless, unnaturally sedated look in his eyes. He is not very pleased by the fact that he is here today, but he had to come to talk to Will.

His gut keeps telling him that something is not quite right.

Will is back to his senses and perfectly lucid – that's what Jack read in the reports of Will's attending psychiatrists. He takes his medicines, and doesn't even have fever anymore; he hasn't been delusional for more than two weeks now, according to his doctors' expert opinions, and Graham still hangs on to that poor story about being framed by Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

At first, it seemed utterly ridiculous. Jack didn't believe a word of it. But as time passed, and Will was being insistent as ever, Crawford started to feel uncomfortable about the theory.

He knows Will, and he has always believed him to be a decent, trustworthy man. Will might have many weaknesses and negative traits in his personality, but Jack is sure that being a heartless, calculating murderer is not one of them. It is a thought he simply cannot accept. Graham could have committed those crimes while being the captive of the massacres of his nightmarish hallucinations, but since his head has been clear for weeks now, and yet he still rehearses his initial version about the happenings... Well, that is a definite sign that Jack should have second thoughts about the story and should try to entertain the baffling possibility that it might be true. That's the reason he came to visit Will today. He decided to help him.

The door opens, and the guards push Will Graham inside.

The young man seems skinnier than the last time Crawford saw him, and there are black-and-blue, round marks on his lower arms at the places where the hastily working, disregardful nurses tend to inject medicine under his pale skin. His curly hair is matted, his hospital clothes are worn.

Jack has to make an effort to hide the commiserative look from his face.

Will's chains silently jingle as he sits down on the opposite chair by the other side of the table. Crawford mumbles a greeting which is not returned.

"I'm sorry I could not visit you lately, but Bella was not feeling well, so I had to help her with the housework. I also had tons of reports to read over in my office," Jack starts the conversation with a miserable, see-through apology. He regrets it the moment he says it, but it's too late to take it back.

"It's okay," Will answers apathetically, keeping his eyes on the shiny, metallic surface of the table. "I'm not much of a company as you can probably see."

Awkward silence falls onto the room for a long while.

"I spent my last three days with pondering over every possibility on how I could help you," Crawford says, then wants to pull the corners of his mouth into a friendly smile, but fails. "There is not much we can try. You need to understand that officially, there is nothing I can do for you. The investigation has reached a dead-end. All the evidence we collected points towards you."

"So, it's over. I will rot here in a cell like a criminally insane serial killer." Will's words are full of bitterness, but he doesn't seem surprised. "Is that why you came here? To tell me to accept my situation and rest in peace?"

"No." Jack's voice becomes encouraging. "I do believe that you are innocent, and I'll try to help you, but we need proof. And..." He pauses, seems to gather his thoughts, and then continues, "Firstly, I have to tell you that anything I might say to you from now on is strictly off the record. It's just... you know, like it has never happened, like I've never said anything..."

"Okay, okay, I get it." Will wearily nods.

"Very well. It's about your accusations against Doctor Lecter. Do you truly believe that he is the one behind this? That he is the copycat killer, trying to frame you?" Crawford leans closer to the younger man with an inquiring look on his face. He tries to find out from the sad emptiness in Will's blue eyes whether the probable answer would be an earnest one or a delusional supposition.

"It's not just a belief," Will hisses. He obviously became tired of the constant reiterations of his theory which is taken seriously by absolutely no one. "I _know_ it."

"I visited him yesterday," Jack answers slowly. "It was a dinner party, and there were five other guests attending as well. I had the opportunity to look around a bit unnoticed, while the doctor was in the kitchen, and I can assure you I saw nothing suspicious."

"Did you expect him to keep cut-off bloody fingers in his cupboard or what?" Will murmurs mockingly.

"When I talk to him, I can't catch anything in his words that might prove that he is up to no good. If he is a serial killer, then he indeed hides his true face well. I can't get to him." Crawford rubs his broad forehead. "There is only one way. You are the person that earned the doctor's trust once. You were almost like a friend to him. You need to convince him to trust you again, and you need to acquire some evidence from him that could change the direction of the investigation towards him. If you are able to come by even a tiny piece of proof, I'll help you get it to a lab, have it processed, and do everything in my power to free you from here with the results."

Will shrugs ruefully. "He would never trust me. He fully realizes that I know the truth and what my opinion is about him. I can't just start to pretend to be his friend again as if nothing had happened."

"I suppose you are right," Jack replies with a slight frown on his forehead. "You can't convince him about your good intention towards him as a friend, that's apparent. Friendship is too much of a pure and mutual relationship to be credible in your situation."

"What else are you insinuating, then?"

"Maybe, we should consider a more complex and less calculable method." Jack cautiously weighs every word he utters.

"What?" Will looks up at him uncomprehendingly.

Crawford clears his throat. He doesn't like that he has to speak out. "Perhaps," he hems again, "you should show him some signs of a deeper fondness for him."

At first, Will gapes at the older man, taken aback. "What the hell...?" he groans then, catching the meaning of Jack's suggestion.

"I know that it sounds odd, but I think that pretending to be in love with the doctor would be the best way for you to make him let his guards down," Crawford explains with a brooding look on his face.

"You... your idea..." Will stutters, quite astonished.

"It's the only option if we want to prove your innocence."

"You can't call it an option." The younger man finally gets his voice back and speaks sharply, rapidly. "I absolutely object to this idea. And even if I agreed, there would be no chance of success. I haven't been good at showing my affection towards those that I feel something for. How do you expect me to pretend to be in love with a serial killer whom I never considered more than a friend even when my attitude about him was at its best? And now..."

"I see that it's not easy," Jack interrupts, "But there isn't anything else I can think of. You have to admit that my idea might eventually work."

"No, it can't, it wouldn't!" Will protests vehemently. "Doctor Lecter would never fall for a weak attempt of deception like this."

"He'd have no reason to suspect that it's a lie."

"Why? Because I look exactly like a lunatic overwhelmed with pathetic longing for a sadistic psychiatrist?" A mirthless smile appears on Will's face.

"It's not what I meant. What I think is that Doctor Lecter knows you, so he knows perfectly well that you are honest and straightforward, and that you have some difficulties with emotions and personal relationships. He would never expect you to be able to fake love for him."

"Do you understand what you are suggesting?" Will snaps. "You want me to act as a prostitute for serving the best interests of the FBI in catching a serial killer."

"Well, it's a harsh way of phrasing it." Jack looks away. The gesture makes obvious that he has already realized what his idea means. "It's not about the achievements of the FBI. It's about regaining your freedom and your life."

"I can't believe that you are trying to persuade me to do something like that." Will leans back on his chair and folds his hands. His chains give a sharp clank. "You can't really think that your sick plan will actually work. And even if you believe that it will, you should hire a professional instead of trying to talk me into."

"You are the only person Doctor Lecter has any interest in."

"But not in the way you suggest!"

"How can you be so sure? Have you ever talked to him about the possibility of a romantic affiliation between the two of you?"

Crawford's question seems to catch Will unsuspectingly.

"No, of course not! Are you completely out of your mind? He used to be the only friend I ever believed to have, and, yes, we had a connection, or at least I thought we had had, but nothing like the one you are talking about. I even told him about my relationship to Alana, and he tried to help me understand my feelings for her."

Jack starts to patter with his fingers on the slab of the desk. "Do you have any other plan how to solve the situation?" he asks impatiently.

"No, but–"

"What's there to lose, then? I'm certain that if you can make Doctor Lecter believe that you are in love with him, he will trust you, even though he doesn't return the feeling."

Will nervously clenches his fists. "This is the worst idea ever."

"Alright," Jack gets up from his chair. "I'll give you a week to think my suggestion over. We will talk about the details next Tuesday."

"We don't need to talk about it again. My answer is a definite no."

"Just think about it." Crawford walks towards the door, pretending that he did not see Will feverishly shake his head with disapproval.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Soup**

Will tries not to think of the ridiculous idea that Crawford mentioned, but he cannot seem to forget about it. It's so shockingly perplexing that it makes him wonder if its absurdity might actually be able to succeed, making the idea effective. No one would ever suspect that he could contrive a plan like this. Not even Doctor Lecter with his professional skills to read human minds.

Will sits on the edge of the uncomfortable bed in his cell and buries his face in his palms.

"So, I should pretend to be in love with a manipulative serial killer who forced me into jail and wants everyone to believe that I'm a lunatic and a monster. Plus, he is not interested in me either romantically or physically. Oh, this plan sounds so swell. It can only end well, of course." He pulls his mouth into a sarcastic, bitter smile. "First possible outcome: he might believe my wretched act, but it'll just make me look like a complete idiot. And the second possibility – undoubtedly the more probable one – is that he'll realize the reason behind my pathetic efforts and find a way to take advantage of the situation. What else could happen?"

But, however crazy he finds Jack's plan, he cannot forget some words Crawford told him at the end of their discussion. "_I'm certain that if you can make Doctor Lecter believe that you are in love with him, he will trust you, even though he doesn't return the feeling._"

Trust. It doesn't really matter if Hannibal considers him a miserable, love-stricken moron if Will can earn his trust this way. And why wouldn't Hannibal trust someone who is obviously overwhelmed with a strong love for him? This is the only thing that matters, the doctor's trust. Even though Will cannot imagine a more humiliating way to achieve his goals, he has to admit that – maybe – Crawford was right. The idea might actually work.

As soon as he reaches this conclusion, even more doubts begin to grow in his mind about the plan than before. It's near impossible to imagine that it has the potential to succeed.

It's pointless to start wondering what he should do or say to convince the doctor about his 'love', since he is sure that he would only make a mess of it. He has no idea how to express tender feelings without looking too constrained, and in fact, he has never tried to show love for anybody this way. The few short-term romantic relationships he had so far started with curious girls coming up to him, chattering about nonsense, meeting him a couple of times just to pass time, having a few sexual encounters, and that was all. They soon disappeared - either got scared of Will's creepy manner, or became bored with the lack of social skills on his part. He did not have any reason to try to pretend that he was in love with any of them.

He even could not convince Alana about his gentle feelings for her, in spite of the fact that he genuinely likes her. Or maybe he could convince her, but anyhow, it just made her keep her distances away more carefully.

How does Jack expect him to give a credible performance for Hannibal about true love? This plan is dreadful, and it would be a tremendous mistake to try it.

* * *

Hannibal has visited him every Friday since the day of Will's arrest. On the first two occasions, the doctor attempted to build up conversations with Will about the younger man's opinion on the situation – about the way Will felt, the memories Will had about the murders – but he did not want to walk into the trap of the doctor's manipulative lies again. He gave no reply to Hannibal's questions and disregarded everything the doctor told him.

Will hoped that Hannibal would soon get bored, and not come back after one or two pointless visits, but quite the opposite. Not a week goes by that the doctor doesn't appear at the door of his cell. Every Friday, Hannibal stands there, arriving after his work hours.

Since the day the doctors reached the decision that Will should not be considered potentially dangerous to himself and others, and he was allowed to meet his visitors personally either in his cell with chains and handcuffs on or in the interview room with the same safety regulations, Hannibal even brings a deliciously looking meal with him and puts it in front of Will on his nightstand.

So far, Will did not have a closer look at the foods the doctor decided to prepare for him. It's clear that the psychiatrist waits for him to eat them, and Will does not want to give Hannibal the pleasure of seeing him do exactly what he is expected of. He just sits and stares at the wall, not turning either towards Hannibal or the dinner the doctor brings for him.

It's really difficult to pretend that he is not interested in those dishes with the heavenly scent drifting from the plastic containers when taking into consideration of the ghastly, tasteless food he receives from the canteen at the institute – but Will has strong resolution to resist the temptation until the guards tell Doctor Lecter that visiting is over. Then, Hannibal takes the food he cooked and leaves.

At the beginning, the doctor said some polite, empty words to Will as a greeting or farewell, but lately, he doesn't bother anymore. They both spend the two hours of the visit in complete silence, and Will likes it this way. The stillness helps him forget about every bad thing that happened, about Hannibal's vile tricks, about the gruesome memories of his nightmares, and the despicable reality. He also has to admit that these two hours are the only time period of the week when he doesn't feel alone.

* * *

This Friday, Hannibal arrives a bit earlier than usual. When Will sees the guards step into his cell, he feels awkward. He remembers Crawford's suggestion and develops butterflies in his stomach. How could Jack dream up a mortifying plan like this? He feels his palms sweating, though he does not have an inkling of an idea as to how to start the execution of the plan. Maybe, it's better if he doesn't utter a thing. Crawford's plan is horrible, period. It's better off the way everything is right now. He could only spoil these two hours of peacefulness with his pathetic attempts, and ultimately for absolutely nothing.

The guards put on Will's chains around his wrists and ankles as he holds his hands for them in the usual manner, and then they leave. It's Hannibal's turn to enter the cell, and he places a lidded, plastic bowl of soup next to Will's bed. He walks with elegant and light, but decisive moves, and somehow the stupid thought occurs to Will that it seems impossible for the doctor's bluish shirt and grey designer suit to not have a single crease after a whole day of wear.

The younger man closes his eyes and wishes silently for a second that he was able to erase Jack Crawford's words from his head while Hannibal pulls a chair next to him and sits down at the same place and angle as he always does. Not too close, but not far enough to stay completely out of Will's zone of perception.

To Will's greatest surprise – and embarrassment – after a short while of soundless peace spent sitting and looking away, the doctor breaks the silence and asks, "How are you feeling today?"

Why now? Will senses that his cheeks are suddenly blushing, and he has to quickly lift up his chained hands and support his head with his palms to cover his reddening face.

"Jack told me about his visit on Tuesday," Hannibal goes on, "And he said he had noticed something secretly bothering you. He was worried. He suggested that I should try to ask you about it."

_Oh, no_, Will thinks fretfully. _Why the hell is Jack Crawford unable to take no for an answer?! _He presses his lips together indignantly and struggles to focus his attention on a tiny spider crawling across the whiteness of the wall.

The doctor keeps his eyes on him calmly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he inquires.

Will shakes his head mutely.

"As you wish." Hannibal leans back on his chair into the comfortable pose in which he usually spends the time of his visits.

Will curses at Crawford in his thoughts, and hopes that Jack was _very_ obscure about the probable source of Will's change of mood that should be queried by Hannibal. He decides that if Crawford mentioned anything to Hannibal about the slight possibility of a romance involved, he might strangle Jack with his shackles next Tuesday.

He feels the heat of his cheeks as they burn with shame, and puts his trust in his fingers to cover up his embarrassment from the doctor's piercing look. He tenses his muscles so that his hands cannot start shaking and tries quickly to think of some gory pictures of his past that might come into his mind – and there is a great number of them. They finally make his face grow pale again and help him draw his attention away from Crawford's despicable plan.

His strategy works for almost half an hour, but then he cannot keep himself from thinking of Jack's idea again. Perhaps, he should try something... But what? And how? And...

No. This plan is bad. Really bad. Better not to ponder over it at all...

A slight gesture would be enough for a start. Something indirect and not suspicious. He doesn't have to be unabashedly obvious, he should just give an innocent little sign to the doctor, showing that he cannot carry on keeping his distance from him so coldly.

No, no. The whole plan is a disaster. If he begins to execute it, there will be no turning back. He will get himself into a terrible situation, and he will end up with the worst circumstances he ever experienced in his life...

But what if it works? What if there is a tiny chance that it will work?

Will slowly lifts up his chained hands and pulls closer the plastic bowl of soup Hannibal brought him. As he opens the container, he tries to concentrate on the motion he makes instead of the voice screaming in his head to stop. The moment he sees the appetizing, golden, saffron color of the chicken soup, he is sure that he won't be able to halt his instincts. He grabs the plastic spoon from beside the bowl, and starts to eat eagerly.

It's humiliating. The doctor must believe that Will eats the soup because he submits himself to Hannibal's volition. The younger man hates to think of it. But if Jack Crawford's plan appeared in his mind instead... Well, that would be even worse. He despises himself for eating the soup, no matter which one of the two aspects of the question he considers. And it doesn't help, either, that the soup is so delicious that he cannot stop himself from devouring it in less than two minutes. His original plan was to reluctantly chew on every spoonful of it, making it look like he didn't enjoy the taste that much.

When he is finished, he pushes the bowl back on the nightstand with repulsion.

"What would you like me to cook for you next time?" Hannibal asks with professional apathy, as if he were the head-chef of an elite restaurant, taking orders from a special guest. Yet, a faint shade of a triumphant smirk becomes discernible in his tone of voice when he reaches the final words of the question. "Would you prefer to eat a stew or another soup?"

_So now he is expecting me to eat anytime he brings food?_ Will makes a wry face and shrugs, "Bring whatever you want. I don't care."

He realizes that it's the first thing he told the doctor after two months of silence, and he hates himself even more for talking to him. _Why is Jack Crawford able to convince me into doing the worst plan in the history of the universe? I shouldn't have eaten the soup, should've kept quiet and left things the way they were. Why? Why?_

He wishes he hadn't caught the victorious look in Hannibal's eyes when he threw an irritated glance at the doctor.

"Would you like me to prepare a dessert too?" Hannibal asks, boastfully.

"I said I don't care," Will growls, gnashing his teeth.

Damn it, it's all Crawford's fault...

He has been resistant for weeks, not talking to the doctor, not even looking at him... And now it's all ruined. All his efforts to shut out Hannibal's dangerous influence and the insidious mind games the doctor plays... Now it's over. He is thrown into the abyss, with no hope of getting back to the light again.

He feels like slamming his fists against the wall until he fractures all his knuckles.

He doesn't say anything else to the doctor, and Hannibal doesn't force the conversation either. When the visiting hours expire, the guards return to the room and escort Hannibal out of the cell. Will feels a dull ache in his heart as he gazes at the door closing behind the contentedly smiling doctor.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Chilton's Approval**

Jack Crawford sits down in the interview room of the institute, glances at his watch, and then tries to adjust himself into the least uncomfortable position on the trashy chair. He didn't forget to buy coffee this time, so he spends his waiting time sipping the turbid black fluid from a plastic cup, but doesn't finish drinking it, since its odor and taste resembles that of a detergent's. He decides to throw it away after meeting Will rather than to consume the rest of this so-called coffee that is closer to dishwater than to beverage.

As the guards escort Graham into the interview room, Jack can see that the younger man knits his eyebrows ill-humoredly and balls his hands into fists. Will is apparently angry, and he doesn't even react to Crawford's greeting.

"What did you say to Doctor Lecter last week?" he snarls, sitting down opposite the older man. "Did you tell him a lie about me harboring a secret longing for him?"

"No, of course not." Jack's reply is calm. "I only said you'd seemed troubled, and you hadn't shared the reason with me, so he should ask you about it. I thought it might have been helpful for you in starting the execution of the plan."

"Oh, okay," Will exhales with relief, his body sagging as the tension eases away. "That's not so bad."

"Without your permission, I wouldn't say anything like what you suggested." Jack's facial expression is austere. "You should know me better."

"Sorry," Will's voice fills with apologizing modesty.

"And how was Doctor Lecter's visit? Did you do anything to accelerate the accomplishment of our goal?"

"I don't think so." The younger man shrugs. He keeps his chained hands on his knees and absentmindedly turns his gaze towards the shackles. "The only thing I was able to do was eat the soup he cooked for me. Not so convincing, I suppose."

„He brings home-made food to you?" Jack asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Just leave this alone, will you?" Will hisses, resting his eyes on his chains, as if they were the most interesting things in the universe.

Jack nods, and keeps quiet for a while, then says, "You did well. You gave a persuasive sign indeed by eating the soup he made. Next time, if he prepares meals for you, you should say thank you to him as well."

The younger man gives no reply.

"And perhaps, you should pay a compliment to Doctor Lecter about how elegant he looks," Crawford adds.

"No." Will's answer is resolute. "You have no idea how horrible I am at sweet talk. It's better if I don't even try it."

"Alright, something else then. Maybe you should touch him."

"No!"

"You'll have to say or do _something_, if you want this plan to work." Crawford makes a tired grimace. "I know that it's not easy for you, but you'll have to make some efforts to help the plan on its way. What do you think would be the best way to take the next step?"

The younger man anxiously digs his fingers into the brown curls of his hair, causing his chains to start clinking. "Don't you see how insane this whole situation is? He is a psychiatrist and a master of manipulations! And I'm just..."

"Stop lamenting," Jack interrupts, his voice harsh and authoritative. "You should focus on our plan."

"Your plan, you mean," Will huffs.

"Well, then, my plan. How would you proceed with it?"

"Okay, I will try to slightly touch one of his hands... only with my fingertips... and only for few seconds..." Will's voice fades, leaving the end of the sentence almost inaudible.

"Good." Jack disregards the younger man's conspicuous unease about the suggestion. "That will be enough for this Friday. We have to be careful not to push things too soon too far."

"No matter what I'd try, I won't succeed." Will's voice wavers softly. "When it comes to socializing..."

"You won't mess it up. I'm telling you what to do, step by step. You'll just have to follow my instructions exactly as I say."

Will sighs humbly. "Alright. Go ahead."

"You'll sit close to him that you will be able to reach him with your hands even with the chains on. You'll have to take care to get into this position without being too obvious, so you should do it at the beginning of his visit, not directly before the touch. After you eat the food he brings you, you'll say thank you to him, and that's when you have to move your arms a bit forward and put your fingers on his hand. Try to pretend that the gesture is happening unwittingly." Jack shoots a stern glimpse at Will, and then continues, "He will pull his hand away, and this is the point where you'll have to say: _I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me_. You'll have to seem pretty embarrassed – I assume that won't be too hard to execute. And that's all you need to do. Nothing more."

"Uh, it sounds kind of awkward," Will mutters, "But, okay, I'll try it."

"Practice your lines. When he pulls his hand away, you'll have to say exactly the same thing I told you: _I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me_. Will you remember these few short words?"

"Of course," Will answers in an affronted tone.

"Very well." Jack stands up from the creaking, time-worn chair. "I'm going now to talk to Doctor Chilton. I'll try to convince him to allow Doctor Lecter to visit you more often. It would be useful for our plan."

Crawford leaves the room with a determined look on his face. Will wrings his hands, and hopeless, lonely sadness darkens his eyes.

* * *

Doctor Chilton lets the pile of documents sink back onto the smooth surface of the desk from his hands while he lifts up his eyes from the text of the file he read beforehand. He turns in the direction of his visitor, Special Agent Crawford.

"So, if I understood you well, you are asking me to allow someone to visit one of the patients treated in this institute more often... Someone, who is accused by this patient of hurting him and torturing his mind into insanity. Excuse me if I cannot help but doubt that this suggestion can be beneficial to Mr Graham's recovery." The tone of Chilton's voice is distantly polite, yet caustic. "The only reason I allow Doctor Lecter to step foot into Mr Graham's cell is that he is a well-known and respected member of our profession, and I'm convinced that a single weekly visit cannot cause any harm to the state of mind of our patient. You see, there is quite an improvement we have reached in Mr Graham's mental stability. I cannot risk it with adventurous new methods."

At least half of his argument is completely untrue, but Doctor Chilton doesn't let it show on his features, he says every word with the same businesslike moderation.

In reality, the reason why he allows Doctor Lecter to visit Will Graham on a weekly basis has nothing to do with professional appreciation. He did not have much choice, since it was Hannibal Lecter who helped him restore his reputation in the eyes of the medical chamber after the horrible fiasco with Gideon. Doctor Lecter wrote the expert opinion on the facts of the case, and his approach of the situation played an important part in re-establishing Doctor Chilton as a respectable personnel again. After Chilton spent weeks at the clinic in pain, agony and worrying, believing that he would lose all he had achieved in his career, he was agreeably disappointed to hear that he could keep his job as the administrator of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, and all thanks to Doctor Lecter's intervention.

When the only favor Hannibal asked in return was the opportunity for him to visit Will Graham as often as possible, Chilton wasn't able to say no. He knew that it was highly unethical, even detrimental to Graham's mental health, and he should've banned it, but he still allowed Hannibal to come every Friday to spend two hours with Graham, even though Will had begged the guards not to let the psychiatrist in.

Yet, Chilton is not thankful to Doctor Lecter for helping him. Not in the least. He hates how successful and acknowledged Hannibal is, and a dark, professional jealousy burns in his heart like acid. No one doubts Hannibal Lecter's unorthodox methods. Graham is a delusional madman, but surely, he couldn't just conjure all his stories out of thin air about Lecter's dangerous mind-games. And who questions Hannibal's credibility? No one. Chilton made only a tiny mistake with that goddamn Gideon, and everybody flew at his throat instantly, talking about how untrustworthy his judgment was on the situation, about his irresponsibility, about his inadequacy... He wishes that one day he could see that self-confident, supercilious Hannibal Lecter dragged through the dirt and accused of abasing blames. After all he went through, it would be a pleasant change to see others suffer the same character assassination.

He realizes that he got lost in his thoughts, and Crawford has been talking to him for a while.

"–And you need to understand," Jack just says, "that they were almost like friends. This special connection can help Will understand how badly mistaken he is, and to see the reality of his past deeds. I appreciate your worries about Will's recovery, but I do believe that this could help him."

Who cares about Graham's welfare? Doctor Chilton would gladly throw the man under the bus if it would be beneficial to Chilton's own interests in any way, but he can't see how it could be. It would just give Lecter the opportunity to freely practice his dark, influencing _witchcraft_ on the poor lunatic, and Chilton wouldn't get anything in return.

Suddenly, a thought crosses his mind, and the somber expression disappears from his face.

"Alright, I understand your point of view," he answers abruptly, his voice cordial. "I must admit that you have been able to change my thoughts about the situation. I guess it can do no harm if I allow the dear doctor to visit Mr Graham up to three times a week. If you, Agent Crawford, consider it useful, who am I to object to your well-founded arguments? Write me a formal letter about your expert opinion and that will be enough for me to allow the treatment."

Crawford seems a bit surprised by the sudden success, but Chilton doesn't give any further explanation. He just smiles, a smile chilling as ice. The cold, menacing smile is still present as he escorts Jack Crawford out of his office.

When Doctor Chilton is finally alone and sits back beside his desk, he has the time to process the idea that occurred to him.

That redhead tabloid blogger called him yesterday, Freddie Lounds, if he remembers the name correctly. He hasn't heard from her for two months, and almost completely forgot about the woman. The last time he saw her was at the private clinic. She visited him while he was recovering from the serious operations, and she brought some cheap, garish flowers to him. She pretended to feel remorse about the fact that it was she who was forced to help Gideon by partially disemboweling him, but Doctor Chilton saw right through her. She only wanted to check his health condition for an article she was planning to write about the consequences of the terrible incident. She even tried to secretly take some photos of his bandages with her cellphone. He told her to go to hell and asked the nurses to throw her out.

He believed it to be the last time he saw her, but she suddenly called him at the office yesterday, and asked him to meet her as soon as possible. She said it had something to do with Will Graham. He wasn't interested, so he told her that he would get back to her if he had the time, and then broke the line. Of course, he hasn't called her back so far.

Only now that Crawford appeared in his office, he starts to wonder if Miss Lounds might have some interesting questions to ask. He should definitely call her after lunch. If there is a connection between Crawford asking him to allow Doctor Lecter to visit Graham more often and Miss Lounds calling him out of the blue, he'll find out about it soon enough. Let's see what will come of it. If he plays his cards well, he might be able to create the perfect trap, and then he'll have the pleasure of watching the downfall of not just the overly self-righteous Doctor Lecter, but the arrogant Crawford as well. What an opportunity.

He decides that after finding out about the reason of the tabloid journalist's call, he will ask her out to have a dinner with him, though he doubts that after spending a long while watching a psychopath cutting out his organs, she would heartily jump into his bed. But, who knows? She seemed like a real bitch – ruthless and unscrupulous, worse than some of the patients treated in his hospital. He might have luck with her after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Hands**

Because Will spends his days completely alone in his cell, he has plenty of time to think about the things that happen to blunder into his mind, and after Crawford's visit, the only thought that fills his head is that he will have to touch Hannibal Lecter's hand on Friday. He even dreams about it. It's quite a nightmare because in his dream, when he tries to reach out for the doctor's fingers, Hannibal, seeing the gesture, abruptly jumps from his chair and says that he will never ever visit Will again. Though the dream is unrealistic, and these kind of exaggerated reactions are absolutely not like Doctor Lecter, Will still feels somehow rejected and unfortunate when he wakes up.

He tries to practice the action a few times. He chooses where to sit on his bed to be close enough to the spot where Hannibal always places his chair, and he prepares for the moment. He hopes that it would help him become less nervous about it, but on the contrary... The more he rehearses the situation in his head, the less comfortable he feels about it. The practicing just gives him an opportunity to think of the ways as to how he might ruin the plan and make a fool of himself.

It won't be the first time that he has touched Hannibal's hand, but he believed the doctor to be his supportive friend at the time, and the few occasions it happened before were in completely different context – for example, the psychiatrist grasped Will's hand firmly when helping him up on his feet because Will was feeling broken and weak. The contact had a function then, and it was perfectly practical and appropriate.

It won't be like that this time.

What will Hannibal think? Will wishes that he didn't care about how the doctor would react, but he does, and he cannot stop speculating on it. What will Hannibal say? He will surely recognize what the gesture implies, won't he? Will he pretend not to catch the deeper meaning behind the soft touch, or will he say something about how improper it is?

He might start lecturing Will about how the younger man lost his reason, and how Will confuses real feelings with the delusions of his loneliness in the hospital. Yes, that's the most probable answer. Hannibal is not the kind of person who needs time to come up with an adequate explanation, so he won't pretend that he didn't understand the gesture. He'll give a detailed psychological comment on the situation, and for Will, it'll definitely be awkward like hell.

He moans silently. _Wonderful_. And, out of all the horrible fantasies he has about the possible outcomes of the touch, this is the most favorable one.

* * *

When the Friday arrives, he has had enough time to give in to despair about Crawford's plan. He pondered over every mistake he might make and every slip of the tongue, and they make him feel hopeless. Moreover, he suspects that Hannibal will probably read between the lines, no matter what Will does or says.

His heart beats faster and faster as Doctor Lecter's visiting time approaches, and its jumps flutter in his chest when the guards walk into his cell in the late afternoon to put on his shackles.

He previously made a thin crease on the blanket of his bed where he should sit to be close enough to the doctor, so he doesn't have to check the proper distance after the guards click on his chains, he just sits down next to the crease with a casual motion. It's the only thing he could organize beforehand to make his situation somewhat easier, and at least this works well. Hannibal pulls his chair to the same place he normally does, and sits down. _Good_. Will estimated the necessary distance properly, he could touch the doctor's hands from there anytime he felt like. This is the only part of the plan he doesn't need to worry about any more.

"How are you feeling today?" Hannibal restates the question he asked last week.

The doctor looks so composed in his perfectly tailored brown suit, with the smooth, immaculate shirt, with the shiny, spotless dark shoes and the pedantically arranged pattern of his hair... This reflection of confidence on all pieces of Doctor Lecter's outfit just makes Will feel even more embarrassed about Crawford's plan.

The younger man shrugs. He doesn't want to give any other response to the question because he is certain that suddenly talking to the doctor after two months of stubborn silence would make it conspicuous that he is up to something. He turns towards his nightstand instead and lifts up one of the plastic containers Hannibal brought him dinner in.

He sees that the doctor prepared two different meals for him this time – obviously encouraged by last Friday's success – and Will muses on the question for a short while whether these foods are just the remnants of some dinner party, or Hannibal made them directly for him. He takes the plastic spoon and starts eating from a bowl of Cobb salad. It looks fresh, not like something that wilted in the fridge left behind from a past banquet. Maybe, Hannibal really prepares these foods specifically for him after work.

Will tries to consume the dinner less eagerly than last time, but he can only play up the hesitation for few seconds because afterwards, his hunger takes over, and he quickens the pace of his eating. He finishes the last of the meals the doctor cooked for him quickly, and as he puts down the spoon next to the plastic containers, he realizes that the foods were so delicious that they even made him forget about Crawford's plan for a blissful while.

Now it came to the less enjoyable part. He has to thank to the doctor for the dinner, and then... Will bites his lower lip.

He still has time to decide whether or not he'll go forth with this crazy plan or leave the things the way they are. It's not too late...

But the circumstances are so perfect. The doctor rests his hands lazily on his knees, so close to the younger man that they couldn't be easier to reach. And Hannibal seems truly unsuspecting. His eyes possessing a snake-like iciness - fastened upon the empty plastic bowls - are so calm... The skin over his high, aristocratic cheekbones doesn't show the slightest hint of mistrustful tension... When taking into consideration of the doctor's constant, predatory caution and intentness, Hannibal couldn't be less aware of what's going to happen next.

So, Will musters enough mental strength, prepares himself for the worst kinds of reactions, and then he whispers hoarsely, "Thank you."

Then he goes for it and moves his chained arms forward, placing his quivering fingers on Hannibal's white, slender right hand. He lets his fingertips run up and down on the doctor's knuckles, stroking Hannibal's hand lightly.

Will feels the muscles in the doctor's fingers suddenly tense, and it shows him that his motion caught Hannibal indeed off guard. He gets ready in his thoughts to saying Jack's sentence, and continuously caresses the doctor's stretched fingers, waiting for Hannibal to pull his hand away as expected.

Time passes slowly, and it still doesn't happen – Hannibal keeps his hand in place. Will perceives, from the corner of his eyes, that the doctor is staring intensely at him, but he doesn't have the strength to look up at the older man's face, so he keeps his head hung, turning towards the white floor.

_Oh, and what now_? Will gulps, and nervously wonders whether this unforeseen development will change his next step. He desperately tries to figure out if Crawford's lines are still adaptable for the situation or they would sound out of place. Jack emphasized that he should tell Hannibal those words _when_ the doctor retreated from the touch. Should he say something else now? If yes, then what? And should it be him who finally pulls his hand away? Or should he rather wait until Doctor Lecter does it?

He originally intended to give only a brief, light touch with his fingertips and believed that it would be enough to make the doctor move his hand away, but apparently, Will couldn't have been more mistaken. What should he do now? Why didn't he ask Crawford about alternatives? He was too sure that it was the only way how things could happen.

He tries to think, but it gets more and more difficult to concentrate on anything else but the sensation of Hannibal's soft skin under his fingers...

He becomes conscious of the fact that he has been stroking the doctor's hand for a while without saying anything, without giving any explanations or without showing any of his concerns.

He doesn't even want to imagine how this all must look like or what Hannibal could think.

It's undoubtedly too late for Crawford's sentence. Will cannot just pretend that _something came over him_, since he has already spent more than a minute keeping his hands on the doctor's, and it would most likely sound incredible and absurd to say that he could not stop himself from carrying on the motion for such a long time if the reason was just a moment of slip.

One thing is for sure: he should end it as soon as possible. However, it's strangely difficult to carry out. There is something about the way their skin touches, the marble sculpture-like beauty of the doctor's hand and the tenderness of the gesture that makes Will hold on to it, and keeps him from ceasing it.

He really needs to gather his strength to pull his hand away, and when he finally does, it feels somehow helpless and empty without the touch – like a stab-wound out of which the blade of the knife just got pulled out.

"I'm sorry," Will mutters, just to break the silence, and turns away from the doctor.

He secretly hopes that Hannibal would quickly give an answer. He feels unable to look at the other man; he just prays silently that Doctor Lecter would say something. Anything.

It's so unlike the doctor for him not to find words, and Will starts to feel bad about it. He suddenly realizes that the trap he creates with Crawford's plan might become a dangerous, unpredictable maze of shadows not just for him, but for Hannibal as well. Until this point, he did not suppose that for Doctor Lecter this could be more than a chance of the familiar challenge to control him, just with a stronger emotional hold this time, but now Will understands that the situation is at least as novel and perplexing for Hannibal as it is for him. And – for the first time during the time of their acquaintance - the doctor can't decide how to react.

Will has always had the impression that there isn't anything that could cause the doctor to be irresolute. Even if he burst into Hannibal's elegant dinner, invaded his privacy, and talked about kissing Alana Bloom, the doctor was ready to instantly discuss the topic with him. Or if he abruptly called Doctor Lecter and told him that he vomited a human ear into the sink, Hannibal appeared - and he seemed to have a proper analytical answer for the most unanticipated occurrences as easily as for the common problems of every day routines. Will could not imagine anything that might be able to shake the doctor's assurance, and yet - though he tries not to use his empathic skills on Hannibal if possible - he can sense that this is what's happening now...

"I'm so sorry," Will repeats, and it might seem that he still talks about touching Hannibal's hand, but something entirely else is on his mind while uttering the words.

Will feels that the psychiatrist is unsure about his reasons, about why Will touched him, and the doctor simply doesn't know what the best way is to explain the incident to himself. That's what makes him keep silent, and that's what pushed him into a state where he is at loss of words. He surely suspects that there could be disingenuous reasons behind the gesture as well as true feelings, and it matters to him which one is the correct interpretation. It's something Will didn't believe: that it would make a difference to the doctor. But it does. Hannibal would act differently, depending on which one is the true reason, and he rather does not say or do anything than to make a mistake with misunderstanding Will's real intention.

After a long minute of silence, Hannibal finally decides on his reaction, and turns to Will with the usual, professional attentiveness on his face.

"In my estimation, it would be advisable if we talked about what had just happened before," the doctor says matter-of-factly. "What do you think about it?"

Back to the psychoanalytical impassiveness of his job. So, Hannibal chose to put up his defenses. It makes Will wonder which response this might be from the doctor: that it is a fake, deceptive behavior on Will's part or that Will showed true feelings with the touch.

"I don't feel like talking," Will replies dryly.

"It would be useful nonetheless."

Will is dead sure that in case he had achieved anything with the touch, he would immediately spoil it if he started having a conversation about it and going into details. He isn't half as a good liar as the doctor is able to detect the untruth behind his words. Better keep quiet. He'll ask Crawford about what to say, and he'll start answering questions the next time the doctor visits him. If there will be a next time...

"I'm tired, and I don't know what to say," Will mumbles, and it amazes him that his voice is exactly as confused and vulnerable as he aimed it to sound.

"Hiding behind silence won't help you understand your situation."

"What if I don't want to understand it at all?"

To Will's surprise, the doctor doesn't give any shrewd reply to this question. In fact, he doesn't say anything else during the rest of his visit.

When the guards enter the cell and instruct Doctor Lecter to exit the room, Will steels himself and lifts up his head to look at Hannibal before he leaves. The doctor's face is balanced and unfathomable, but a faint glimmer appears in his narrow, cold eyes, and it's enough to show Will that he has just won the first round. Him looking straight into Hannibal's eyes started to convince the doctor about the honesty of the touch, and Doctor Lecter has just took a step on his way to believing in Will's tender feelings for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Lies**

Freddie Lounds wakes up to the morning light in Doctor Chilton's bed. The doctor has already left the room, so she lies alone under the soft, beige blanket. She sits up, pushes the long, red wisps of hair away from her face, and then climbs out of the comfort of the bed.

She takes a shower in the adjoining bathroom, and then walks around the bedroom, looking for her missing clothes, but only manages to find her underwear. After pulling it on, she throws one of Chilton's shirts around her shoulders. Her other clothes must be scattered throughout the different parts of the house, and she doesn't feel like starting her morning with a long search party.

She walks down the stairs instead, to find the spacey kitchen and Doctor Chilton sitting there, next to the counter. He is in a bath robe, drinking a cup of coffee. Of course, he hasn't poured a drink for her and doesn't ask her either if she wants one.

"Make one for me as well," she demands unabashedly, pulling a chair for her next to the doctor.

Chilton makes a 'What is this bitch still doing in my house?' grimace, and then reluctantly gets up from beside the counter to prepare a cup of coffee for her as well.

Freddie comes to the conclusion that she actually likes the man. What kind of person drags a woman into his bed after spending a long while watching her help a psychopath cut out his organs? What an unscrupulous, horrible jerk. He is definitely her kind of guy. She can clearly imagine what a wonderful couple they'd make when it comes to detecting scandalous stories and ruining other people's lives. However, she hopes that she won't have to let him fuck her often in order to persuade him to help her some more with her investigation. She has some hideous bruises on her inner thighs as the result of the selfish and violent way he treated her during their night spent together.

"Do you want milk or sugar?" he asks with a bored yawn.

"Both. But I'll do that for myself." She pulls out the jug of milk from his hand before he could spoil her coffee, and sets it down on the counter. "So, are you going to talk to Graham today?" she asks.

"Yes." His answer is brief and aloof.

"Don't forget to call me directly afterwards. I want to know every detail. You must be very careful when asking him..."

"Mind your own responsibilities," Chilton interrupts her, "And don't botch the questioning of Lecter. I'll be alright with Graham."

She takes her cup of coffee from him.

"Oh, I'm sure that you are such a genius when it comes to questioning psychos," she retorts with a malicious smile. "After all, you only ended up with one of them cutting out your entrails thanks to your wonderful skills at interviewing him. It isn't even worth mentioning, is it?"

Freddie enjoys watching the dark anger appear in his eyes, after hearing her mockery.

"You shouldn't be so arrogant, darling," Chilton answers bitingly, after he finally regains his composure. "It's still not too late for me to change my statement I gave the police about the Gideon case. What if I told them that I'd seen you enthusiastically assist that bastard with disemboweling me – of your own free will?"

"You were under the influence of narcotics, sweetheart. No one would take your statement seriously."

"Don't be that sure. Your fingerprints were all over the place, and I can be a pretty good liar if I have to. Gideon is dead, so it will be my word against yours. You are just a disreputable tabloid journalist; everybody hates you in the law enforcement. And guess who the former tennis partner of the Police Commissioner is."

The smile disappears from Freddie's face. She pouts her lips.

"It would be such a shame seeing you rot in a prison cell for kidnapping a respectable doctor and performing a vivisection on him," Chilton adds tauntingly. "What about we keep up our nice, friendly alliance and don't mention Gideon again? And in the end, you'll get your earthshaking story about Lecter and Graham, and everything will be just fine."

She grins again, and presses a quick kiss on his lips before she turns to her coffee.

* * *

Crawford sits down in the silence of the interview room opposite Will. He notices that his plan has been taking its toll on Will's emotional state, since the younger man looks more depressed and his face is more pinched every time Jack visits.

"How was it?" Crawford asks curiously. He knows that Graham understands without any further explanations that his question concerns Doctor Lecter's visit and the touch.

Will fumbles with the links of his chain. "It was okay."

"Okay? What does that mean?"

"I did what you told me to." Will's mutter is almost inaudible.

"Exactly as I said?"

The younger man doesn't give any response instantly. "Yes," he replies a few seconds later.

"And what was Doctor Lecter's reaction?"

The color of Will's cheeks slowly turns into a shade of ruby.

"He pulled his hand away as you expected, and he said that... er..." Will seems to ponder the answer for a little while. "He said that it was inappropriate, me touching him like that, and that he was my psychiatrist, and... and that was all."

"Fine," Crawford replies contentedly. "He understood the gesture and even believed it. Excellent. You accomplished the first step of our plan flawlessly."

"I suppose so." Will still fidget's with the chains of his shackles.

Crawford starts to find it suspicious how uncomfortable the younger man looks. "Was there anything else?" he asks, frowning.

"N-no."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course." Will looks up at him, his voice much more steady now. "What should I do the next time he visits?"

Jack ruminatively ponders over the question. "You'll have a much more difficult task," he announces finally. "You'll have to engage in a full-on conversation with him about your feelings for him."

"About my _feelings_?!"

"Your love."

"No. That's crazy." Will shakes his head. "I don't love him, and he'll see it after two or three sentences, believe me. Analyzing emotional issues is not my specialty, it's his."

"There is only one way to solve this. You have to use your empathy on him as deeply as you can to figure out what he needs to hear to believe that he is being loved. What does love mean for him? What do you have to say to create the illusion of love for him? You can do this, Will."

"No, I can't." A slight glimmer of fear appears in the younger man's eyes. He moves backwards on his chair.

"Why? What's the matter?"

Will seems really upset. "I can't let my empathy become too concentrated in his direction."

"You've used it on many serial killers before. You have no reason to be afraid of him."

"He is not like the others."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is that I trusted him more than I've ever trusted anyone else." Will hides his face behind his palms. "I can't let him get too close to me in my mind again."

The corner of Crawford's mouth squirms with disapproval. "You'd be able to play him the way you wanted if you let your empathic skills work extensively on him. You already kind of know him, and you have the ability to understand him even more."

"No." Will's tone of voice is bitter. "It would hurt me too much."

"Alright." Crawford shrugs resignedly. "We can find another way. But you'll have to talk to him about some feelings, that's inevitable."

"I told you that it wouldn't work. He'll see right through my lies with no difficulty."

"So, you shouldn't lie to him."

"What do you mean?" Will looks up at him questioningly.

"Tell him something that is basically true, but easy to misconstrue and ambiguous."

"Like what?"

"You should figure it out. Something like how close he still is to you, or how helpless you feel when he is not there, or how lonely you are without his support, whatever. I don't know your feelings about him, so I can't tell you what to say."

Will shuts his eyes for a moment.

"He is the only person who has never turned his back on me, not even once," he replies quietly. "And he is the only one who wants to get closer to me and see me the way I really am, and not just the way I'm supposed to be. Though I might have never shown, I know it, and it still gives me more strength than anything - in spite of all the bad things he has done to me. Is it okay if I say this to him?"

Crawford finds it kind of forlorn that this is the truth, but he leaves it unmentioned.

"Perfect," he answers encouragingly. "The point is that you shouldn't lie to him. You'll just have to emphasize some positive aspects that might give him the impression that you are totally under his spell."

"Okay, I can do that." Will gives a diminutive half-smile.

"Just be careful not to exaggerate it. You should say only three or four sentences and don't try to be too emotional about them. Tell him everything the way you would honestly talk to him."

The younger man nods mutely.

* * *

Will sits on his narrow, rough bed, his legs folded, his arms around his knees, and watches the familiar little spider crawling across the floor. He finds it somewhat comforting that there is a living creature he can share the loneliness of his captivity with, even if it's as simple and tiny as this spider.

He feels unhappy because of the lie he told Crawford. He should've told the truth about Hannibal not pulling his hand away and not saying anything hostile, but when Crawford entered the room and started asking him, it suddenly seemed hard to talk about the real happenings. It was much easier to say that everything went the way they planned. It doesn't make a big difference anyway, does it? Eventually, the result is the same: he should talk to Hannibal about his feelings as the next step of the plan. It's better off this way. It was so beautiful and intimate, touching the doctor's hand for such a long time – it would have been hurtful to talk about it in a manipulative and calculating way to Jack.

He doesn't have too much time to puzzle over the question, since he gets another visitor in less than an hour. His guards put on his chains, and Doctor Chilton walks into his cell in a dark, bluish, expensive suit, with a pile of documents in his hands. The doctor gives an empty, lifeless smile to Will.

In Will's opinion, Chilton has been reinstated as the administrator of the hospital too soon. It makes Will wonder whether such a serious trauma like being the victim of a psychopathic patient's gory torture should be swept aside as an unfortunate occupational accident. Probably not. It must have left some traces and dents in the doctor's mental state, and the way Chilton pretends that he is perfectly alright and able to run the whole institute doesn't seem reassuring at all. His wounds might have healed on the outside, but the lies just make the inner ones worse.

Doctor Chilton places a printed copy of a letter in front of Will on his nightstand.

"This is Special Agent Crawford's expert opinion about a suggestion for a new treatment in your case," the doctor explains. "He is convinced that allowing Doctor Lecter to visit you three times a week and giving him the opportunity to execute an intensive therapy would be beneficial to your recovery. Agent Crawford states that only one weekly visit is not enough to lead to a considerable improvement towards regaining your mental health. What is your opinion of this suggestion? Should I approve it or decline it?"

Will turns to the letter, touches one corner of it vaguely, and then he lets his chained hands fall back onto his knees.

"Do as you think fit," he replies languidly.

"Don't you have any objections against it?"

"I have. But who cares?" Will's response is cynical and tired.

Chilton steps closer and puts his hand hearteningly on Will's shoulder. "I do."

_He is lying_.

Will cannot read other people's minds, but his intense empathy allows him to _feel_ the way they think, and he senses inwardly that Chilton doesn't give a damn about his well-being. The doctor must have had some other reasons to come here and ask him.

There is something about the man that raises a red flag. He pretends to be genuinely concerned, and even the look on his face is sincere, but Will can still sense that Chilton is not on his side. He can't really put his train of thought into words; it's just a disquieting hunch. Who knows what this sly man did to Gideon's mind before making him lash out and break loose from all control? Better be careful with him. The last thing Will needs is another manipulative wire-puller who wants to use him for his own purposes. Doctor Lecter and Jack Crawford are more than enough to deal with.

"Reject the request, then," Will growls, "if you really care about my opinion. I don't have much else to say."

Chilton takes the letter away from the nightstand and rotates it absent-mindedly in his hands.

"Are you afraid of him?" he asks wonderingly.

"Of Doctor Lecter?"

"Of him, yes."

Will lets out a mirthless, short laugh.

"Oh, yes. Aren't you?" He throws back the question.

"No. Why should I be afraid of a respected colleague? You went through this a lot of times with your attending psychiatrists. Doctor Lecter is not a killer. Accusing him of murder is just the projection of the unbearable reality of your own deeds to someone else because it's easier to cope with it this way. It's a deep trauma, the butchering of your surrogate daughter. I know that you did not mean to hurt her, it was the illness..."

"Don't start with this worthless psychoanalytical nonsense, I've listened to it way too many times." Will interrupts him sharply. "I did not kill Abigail Hobbs, and I know it for sure."

"This is the constant denial you live in. A dangerous way to escape the truth."

"Speaking of denial... Why is it that you came back to work a few weeks after the horrors of Gideon's tortures as if nothing had happened?"

Will realizes that Chilton is going to hate him for the indelicate question, but he blurted the words out before he had time to consider whether it was a good idea to say something this offensive.

Chilton doesn't give any response, but all of a sudden switches back to their former topic. "What do you think the real reason of Special Agent Crawford's suggestion can be? Why does he suppose that seeing Doctor Lecter more often could do you good? You don't seem to embrace the idea. Why is Agent Crawford so convinced that Doctor Lecter can help you, in spite of the repulsion you feel?"

"You should ask Jack about it," Will answers gruffly.

"He has already told me his version of the explanation; I'd like to hear yours now."

_What is he aiming at_? Will doesn't like Chilton's questions, and decidedly not the way the doctor pretends to care about his patients' interests. It just gives Will the sad impression that there is truly no one in this world who would sincerely stand by him.

"Just go away now," he says to the doctor. "I don't know anything about this suggestion, and I don't care why Jack is forcing it. No one can help me, nor give me back what I lost, especially not Doctor Lecter."

Chilton seems to weigh what he heard, and then he slowly nods. "Alright. I'm leaving now, but please let me know if I can help you with anything. Feel free to send me a message by the nurses anytime you might need my assistance."

"Thank you, I'll do that." Will's words are no more honest than Chilton's, he just thinks that this is the expected answer in a situation like this, so he says it mechanically.

He feels relief when Doctor Chilton finally walks out of the cell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Words**

Will takes the first plastic container from his nightstand and opens it. The doctor has cooked a deliciously-looking red soup for him, the name of which and the ingredients are completely unknown to the younger man, but he doesn't feel like starting their important conversation with stupid questions about gastronomical details, so he eats the food in silence, without identifying what he consumes.

The marvelous taste makes up for the lack of information, anyway.

He feels considerably less nervous than last time, though he knows that talking to Hannibal is much riskier than just touching his hand for a few seconds, but at least it doesn't make him feel awkward, it turns his mood gloomier instead. And being hopeless and unhappy is so familiar for him that it's much easier to cope with it than with the excitement of strange new experiences.

This step of Crawford's pathetic plan seems not so difficult to take. The only thing Will fears is that he'll be unable to stay on the line between bald, plain honesty and being melodramatic in an untrustworthy way. He promises himself that he will be very careful.

He eats everything with eager enthusiasm and has to admit that the meals the doctor cooks for him are definitely the highlights of his woeful weeks. Had he known that he would end up eating them either way, he could have started accepting the dinners from the first time Hannibal had brought them, and that way he could have gained a few minutes of pleasure in the dark emptiness of his days.

When Will finishes the Italian tiramisu Hannibal prepared for him as a dessert, he turns to the doctor, and says an automatic "Thank you."

The triumphant, almost malevolent sneer that appears on Hannibal's face drags Will soon back to the despicable reality after the unworldly delight of eating the rich dinner. He regrets his words at once. _Next time, I won't say a thing_, he makes up his mind crossly. He puts back the plastic bowl onto his nightstand with an indignant push.

He spends a minute wondering whether he should start talking, but he ultimately decides against it. His efforts are less obvious if he waits for the doctor to build up the conversation.

It doesn't take long for Hannibal to determine how to begin. He asks with reserve, "When was the last time Doctor Bloom visited you?"

It's a surprising start of the discussion, Will did not fancy anything like that. He slightly stirs.

"She was here, I think, about two weeks ago. Maybe three." As soon as Will says the words, he finds it suddenly much sadder than before that Alana visits him this seldom. He knows that she tries hard, but seeing him behind bars breaks her heart, and it's easier for her if her visits are seldom.

"Should I tell her that you would like to see her?" Hannibal asks.

Will starts to find the direction of the conversation not just perplexing, but inconvenient as well. He nervously rubs his stubbly chin. "Why exactly are we talking about Alana?"

"I thought that you might need her support. Should I call her to visit you this weekend?"

"I still don't understand," Will remarks uncomprehendingly.

"Did you think of her last week while you were touching my hand?" The tone of voice Hannibal uses is relaxed and smooth, but there's something unnaturally stiff about his features while he is asking the question.

This catches Will even more unsuspectingly than the previous sentences.

"What?!" he stares at the older man, astonished.

Hannibal doesn't even blink. "I suppose you understood my question, and I don't need to repeat it for you."

"Okay, I heard it... it's just... er..." Will knows that he miserably stutters, but he doesn't have the foggiest idea what to reply according to Crawford's plan. "It's just... It seems kind of, uh, bizarre... your presumption, I mean."

"Does it?"

The idea really seems absurd to Will, recalling how little he cared about anything else except the sensation of the doctor's warm skin under his fingertips while he was stroking Hannibal's hand, but he is not sure how to put this into words. He doesn't feel like admitting the truth to Doctor Lecter because it would be too awkward, but what then? He can't tell him anything else, either, since he promised Crawford that he wouldn't lie. Well, he was not expecting this turn of events when he was planning what to say.

He realizes that Hannibal still waits for his answer, and with every second Will spends hesitating, the shadows of the ill-lit cell seem to grow a bit darker on the doctor's face.

"Alright, I'll call her this evening," Hannibal says finally, obviously misunderstanding the reason of Will's silence.

"No. I don't need her to visit me, especially not because you ask her to." Will protests, and he decides that it's time to start with what he promised Crawford he would tell Doctor Lecter. "She can't make me feel less deserted. She only wants to see the parts of me that are appealing to her. Anytime she detects something that is not good in me, she instantly takes a step back, and turns her back on me when I need her the most... As everybody else does. Except you." Will wonders if he should quit talking. He is worried that he says too much, but he cannot stop himself from adding, "Only you can make me find the strength in me when I'm broken and lost... because you are the one who wants to know and understand everything about me and not just the favorable parts of my personality. You make me feel less alone. No one else can do the same."

He stops. He could tell the doctor so much more, the emotions and thoughts are swirling in his head in a mad chaos, but he overcomes the urge and presses his lips together.

Has he messed up his ambiguous confession? He starts guessing.

_Okay, it was a bit exaggerated_, he admits. _Jack warned me that I should not overact it_.

But he hopes that his tone of voice was lethargic enough to counterbalance his words. He also becomes aware of the fact that all of what he said was close to the truth, if not the truth itself, so maybe he did not overplay his role at all.

Hannibal watches him with a pensive look on his face. He gives his answer considerately. "All I want from you is to feel the same about me."

Will's heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?" he asks, in a sudden stupor.

"I wish you could see me the way I see you."

If a straight razor were stuck into the middle of his chest, it would be less hurtful for Will than hearing the doctor's words. He holds his head in his hands, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. "I can," he answers hoarsely. "I just don't want to, and I've been trying to fight it."

"Why?"

"Because you are a monster. I know that you would be able to kill me if it was in your best interest, and you'd do that without a moment of hesitation."

"You would have shot me in the heart at the Hobbs house if it weren't for Jack," Hannibal replies calmly. "It's a risk we must both take in our relationship... That we are capable of killing each other if the circumstances force us."

"I... I don't think that I'd ever want to understand... You murdered our daughter." Will's voice falters. "I mean... Abigail," he amends shakily.

"I could not protect her."

"Is that what you call killing the ones you should care for?"

Hannibal inhales slowly, and doesn't give any response.

"I can't decide if you are my worst enemy or the only true friend I've ever had," Will utters weakly. "I just don't know."

"Do you ever wonder that this might be the same question I try to answer for myself about you?" Hannibal's voice is low and mild. "Whether you are my worst enemy or the only true friend I've ever had, I mean. Maybe it's possible that we are both – friends and enemies."

_Why couldn't Jack have shot me dead in the Hobbs house?_ Will muses sorrowfully. _It would have been the only good thing that could have happened to me_...

He realizes that he lost focus on Crawford's plan. He didn't even think of it for a while because it hurt too much to talk to the doctor, the aching in his heart was too strong... There was nothing else he could pay attention to, especially not that wretched plan.

He lifts his head up a bit and tries to recover some of his strength.

_Let it go. Stop mourning the things that will never be yours again_, he chides himself quickly in his thoughts. _It's not too late to find a way to escape. You should concentrate on the plan and on saving yourself_.

Will decides that he should change the topic from friendship to perhaps a more suggestive one, which can be useful for Crawford's plan, before Hannibal becomes too confident about the subject of their conversation and breaks through all the walls the younger man arduously built up around his mind to protect himself from the pain.

"How did it feel, my touch on your hand?" Will feels a glint of satisfaction over the fact that he could figure out a suitable question.

However, it does not help regaining his collectedness when he sees that the soft expression freezes on Hannibal's face. Maybe, it wasn't such a good idea, abruptly returning to Crawford's plan... Will blushes and comes to the conclusion that this was the worst way to draw his attention away from the grief of Abigail's loss and from the gruesome lie Hannibal lives.

Doctor Lecter seems to ponder his reply for a while, and then he asks indifferently, "What exactly do you want my answer to be?"

Will considers this response highly curious, but he doesn't have any idea how to interpret it. What on Earth could he mean by _what exactly_?

"Whatever's the closest to the truth," he says finally, deciding that hearing the detailed honesty might be beneficial to Crawford's plan, even if it's something unpleasant. Yet, his voice is so uncertain that it's almost just a silent breath.

Hannibal turns completely towards the younger man, and the next moment, he moves his hand forward and places it on Will's chained hands.

"It felt like this," the doctor murmurs and strokes Will's fingers gently.

It's like an explosion of emotions, Will loses his breath as the electric impulse of the tender touch runs through his muscles and makes his knuckles tense. He has to shut his eyes for a moment, because it's almost too much to bear... And yet, Hannibal does not stop, he moves his fingers up and down on Will's hand, the same way the younger man did to him last week.

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Will isn't able to breathe, can't think, can't do anything. He gets completely lost in the sensation. Then slowly, the shreds of the abominable reality start to crawl back into his mind... Abigail's mutilated corpse, the copycat murders, the lies, the nightmares, the blood... The air freezes around him.

Hannibal must perceive that Will shudders with horror and how the younger man involuntarily pulls his hand slightly away because the doctor instantly ceases stroking Will's hand and leans back on his chair to increase the distance between the two of them to the greatest lengths possible. The look on his face becomes distrustful and cautious.

_Oh, no, I'm ruining the whole plan_, Will notices in alarm. _He is close to realizing that all I did last time was a lie... No!_

Will knows that he has to figure out something straight away to prevent Crawford's plan from collapsing because even a moment of delay might put an end to it once and for all. The icy coldness growing in Hannibal's eyes shows that the doctor is right on the verge of recognizing the truth...

Will has no idea what Jack would suggest, and he has no time to think about any crafty reaction, he just acts on impulse.

He grabs Hannibal's right hand and pulls on it forcefully, clenching his fingers around it as tightly as possible. It must cause pain to the other man, but Will cannot control it. He is not even sure if he really does this for Crawford's plan or just because he wants to feel the doctor closer again. He violently tugs the hand to him and kisses Hannibal's pale, slim fingers feverishly.

It takes just a few seconds for him to comprehend what he has done.

When he finds himself holding the doctor's hand still pressed to his mouth and with his grip almost fracturing the older man's wrist, Will feels that his cheeks start to burn with embarrassment. He lets go of Hannibal's arm, and glances at the doctor with an apologizing look on his face. Intending to say that he is sorry, he clears his throat, but then after being rendered speechless, just mumbles some indistinctive syllables and falls silent again.

Will can't make out what could be on Hannibal's mind, but one thing is certain: he was able to salvage the plan with this stormy grasp, since there is no sign of the severity full of suspicion on the doctor's features anymore. Although, Hannibal does not seem particularly amused either. His facial expression is thoughtful, earnest and absolutely unreadable for Will.

To the younger man's surprise, he is the one who finds his voice first and not Doctor Lecter.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he says meekly. "I, I was in a fragile state of mind and... and I don't know what's come over me."

Crawford's lines become useful after all - Will realizes with a sour, inward smile.

"It won't happen again," he adds, seeing the unresponsiveness of the doctor. "I promise."

Hannibal suddenly stands up from his chair. Cold, numb fear spreads in Will's heart when he sees the doctor get up. He doesn't even want to imagine what it would be like if Hannibal left him now and never visited him again. It means so much to him that Doctor Lecter is there for him: it gives a meaning to the void, endless days of his captivity. _No. Please don't leave... _Will gasps with despair.

But Hannibal does not turn towards the door, he steps to the younger man instead, and sits down right next to him on the bed. Before Will could apprehend what's happening to him, the doctor puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer. And at this point, Will feels unable to think anymore, he just leans his head to the other man's shoulders, breathing in the fragrant, yet masculine scent of the doctor's skin, and shifts further towards him.

Hannibal puts one of his soft palms to the younger man's cheek as if Will were a little child burning in high fever and he wanted to check his temperature. Will closes his eyes and forgets about everything, the only feeling he lets in is the doctor's closeness. Hannibal keeps him in his arms so safe and soothingly...

The whole sensation is more illusion-like than any of his past hallucinations.

He only withdraws from the doctor's embrace when a patrolling guard passes by the door with noisy, steady steps. Will quickly moves away from Hannibal before the guard might catch sight of them in that intimate position.

He realizes that the visiting time is almost over, so he must have spent a very long time in the doctor's arms, but didn't notice it while he was so close to Hannibal. It feels like waking up from a profound sleep.

Will inhales heavily.

"I would have killed myself, you know." His throat is dry, voice blurred. "At the Hobbs house... after shooting you... would have put a bullet through my head." He doesn't turn towards the doctor while talking; he keeps his eyes on the whiteness of the floor. "I'm nothing like you."

The personnel must carry a tray of medical instrument somewhere outside because the jingling of the metallic tools echoes through the corridors. It's clearly audible in the silence of the room.

Hannibal's reply is late and very quiet. "You don't know what you mean to me."

Will just answers with a sad, disenchanted smile. "I wish I didn't."

The cell seems to become darker and shadier. Will turns away from the doctor.

He hears the guards when they arrive at the door and escort the other man out of the room, but doesn't lift his head up. After the doctor's leave, they unlock Will's shackles and free him from the cold metal chains.

He stays still for a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Doubts**

Jack Crawford is so angry that he passes the corridors of the Baltimore State Hospital with rapid, stiff strides, while the nurse who is escorting him to the interview room can hardly keep up. Crawford cramps his fingers around two paper pages, and doesn't let them loose when he subsides onto the jarring chair next to the table.

His resentment does not dissolve while he waits for the guards to bring Will from his cell, it only drops a fair amount when he sees Graham arriving and his guards pushing him down onto the opposite chair. The younger man's face is worn, pale, and unnamable tiredness darkens his eyes. He looks almost as unhealthy as he did before he started getting his medical treatment here.

Jack turns to the documents he keeps in his hand to recall why he arrived so fumingly.

"What the hell is this?!" he thunders. He pushes the papers in front of Will.

Will looks at them. One of them is the expert opinion Crawford wrote to Chilton about Hannibal's visits, and there is a brief comment in handwriting attached to that letter. "_I, the undersigned, after consulting the patient, evaluated the risks and have found it perilous and harmful to increase the frequency of Doctor Hannibal Lecter's visits. Hereby, I reject the request._" And there is the stamp of the administrator of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, plus Chilton's signature.

"_After consulting the patient_?" Jack quotes wrathfully. "What's the meaning of this?! What on Earth did you say to Chilton? It took all my efforts to convince him to allow Doctor Lecter to visit you more than once a week, and you ruined it!"

Will gives his answer inanimately. "I told him that I did not want Hannibal to come here more often. And this is the truth, anyway."

"I don't care about the truth. This would have been highly useful for our plan!"

"Did you expect me to tell Chilton 'Hey, please allow those visits? I know that Doctor Lecter framed me for a series of murders, but I have a fantastic plan about playing a love-struck fool, so could you be so kind and let him spend all his afternoons here with me'?!" Will wrinkles his forehead. "What could I have said? Anyway, Chilton did not seem to really care about my interests, so I didn't believe that he would truly reject the request if I said so."

"You didn't believe... Wonderful." Jack's voice is still irritated. "Now tell me how Doctor Lecter is supposed to _believe_ in your limitless, overwhelming love, if he can meet you only once a week! These infrequent occasions are not enough to lure him into the trap. He has the whole week to ponder over the things you say or do and to contrive sensible, artful reactions. Doctor Chilton's approval would have been essential to the success of the plan."

Will doesn't seem regretful. "Incidentally, I suggest that you should be careful with Chilton," he notes instead. "He asked some dangerous questions from me. I think that he is after you."

"Will, this is ridiculous." Crawford smacks his fists down the metallic slab between the two of them. "Why would Doctor Chilton want to do _anything_ against me?"

"Better if we never find out about it."

"You are starting to become paranoid. Do you think that all the doctors are your enemies? First Doctor Lecter, and that one I'm inclined to believe, but now you are forging theories about Chilton..."

"The man is creepy. He is up to something, I know it."

"You are imagining things." Jack's tone is uninterested. "After all, you are in an asylum. Here, you can hear the weirdest stories and see the most bizarre things."

"I'm not going crazy – if that's what you imply!"

Crawford rolls his eyes. "Alright, let's not chew on this. What about last Friday? How was Doctor Lecter's visit?"

"I told him some of my feelings. And we talked about the fact that we were friends in the past." Will blushes slightly, as he also did on the two occasions when he had to speak about the meetings between Hannibal and him.

"Did you only talk about friendship?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"_Suppose_? So you don't know it for certain?" Jack asks impatiently.

"Well, I, I think so," Will stammers.

"It's time to get more direct. This Friday, you'll have to start talking to Doctor Lecter about a desire for a more intimate relationship. You'll have to ask him, straightforward, if he considers it possible that one day, you two can be more than friends."

Will snorts huffily. "If the only goal of your plan is to make me look like a fool, then it's a very good plan indeed."

Jack disregards the jab.

"You'll have to stay as close to your true self as possible," he goes on decidedly. "If you feel embarrassed, look embarrassed. If you are curious, look curious. Whatever. Don't try to show him something else, just your true thoughts about the situation. And don't get stuck at the topic of friendship like last time; it's high time to overstep this boundary. It's not a problem if he considers your supposition demented and improper. Speaking out will give him the impression that you lost control of yourself. Don't let a good opportunity slip away like you did last Friday."

Will turns away from the older man. "This wretched acting is too much for me," he mutters. "I should be honest, but I should also lie to him at the same time. I should not lose focus on the plan, but should pretend to be completely vulnerable and easy to influence. I should get closer to him, but also secretly keep my distance... It's just not me. I'm not a sly, manipulative liar who can choose his words so strategically that in the end, when he says the truth, it creates a suggestive trap as well. Find someone who can succeed with this crazy plan because I can't. I don't want to do this anymore."

Will is about to get up from his chair, and Crawford has to grasp the younger man's chained wrists, firmly pulling him back.

"Okay, maybe I was a bit too harsh on you," Jack admits apologetically. "I'm sure you did great last week. I know this plan is not easy, and you do your best to make it work. Sorry for being unfair."

It's still not enough to make Will look less disobliging. "Is this plan about helping me?" he asks with skepticism in his voice.

"How can you doubt that?"

"If it's really about me, then let it go. I'd rather stay in my cell for the rest of my life than delve any further into this madness. Tell Chilton to ban Hannibal's visits, and you should all leave me alone, too."

Jack sees that Graham is on the verge of giving up. That conversation with Hannibal last Friday must have been painful for him. Crawford asks quietly, "Would it truly make you happier if Doctor Lecter did not visit you again?"

"Of course not. It would hurt me. But that's the only way to protect myself from something worse."

The older man shakes his head. "No, no. You are much stronger than that. I know that you are able to succeed with our plan. We are on the right track..."

"Your whole bloody plan is just about the results of the FBI," Will snaps, his voice full of suppressed pain and anger. "You don't give a damn if I get hurt... As you didn't care when the illness almost drove me crazy. You still dragged me to crime scenes, though you saw that it shatters my sanity... And now you couldn't care less about me. You just want to put another serial killer behind bars with my help. It doesn't matter what it costs me, does it?"

"Will, I see that you've really become paranoid here. Everything you say is totally disrespectful and unrighteous." Jack tries to stay calm in spite of the rage he feels. "My only aim is to help you. We are at the beginning of a complicated and risky plan, and I try to understand your situation as much as I can. Don't make it harder than it is, don't give in to hopelessness. Think of the life that awaits you outside."

"That was such a convincing argument." Will's answer is so sarcastic that Crawford cannot hide the pitying look from his face after hearing the younger man's words.

"Is there nothing out there worth fighting for?" Jack asks wonderingly.

"Not for me, no."

"Think of his victims, then. All the people he tortured and butchered without the slightest hint of remorse... Would you turn your back on them when you have the chance to help? If he truly is a sadistic serial killer, he won't ever stop, and you know that."

Will digs his fingers into the brown curls of his hair, hiding his face behind his arms. He takes almost a minute to give a reply.

"Alright," he says hoarsely, still covering his face. "How should I take the next step of your plan?"

"The main focus point will be the inquiry about Doctor Lecter's opinion whether you two could be more than friends. He'll say that it's inappropriate and out of the question, so you don't need to worry about any too-intimate reaction."

Will lets down his chained hands onto the table. He looks at Crawford lifelessly. "And how should I turn the conversation towards this topic?" It's the only thing he asks.

"Perhaps, you could ask him if he has ever kissed another man before."

This answer is able to drag Will back from lethargy. "No!" he utters with abrupt sharpness. "I won't embarrass him like that!"

"I don't think that he is the type to easily get embarrassed. It's a simple question anyway, not difficult to answer. Yes or no. It doesn't matter what his response will be since this is just a step to the important part of the conversation. When he gives a reply, you'll have to ask him if he can entertain the idea of you two kissing each other. Or whether he can imagine becoming more than friends – whichever from these two questions sounds more plausible in the actual situation. That's all. Only few sentences. Don't worry, you'll get over with it soon. He'll say a polite, distant 'no', and you are done with your task for this Friday. He might tell you a few things about proper doctor-patient relationships, but I don't think he would get angry with you or behave extremely hostile. He understands that you are in an unstable state of mind and that you are lonely here."

"It won't be that bad at all," Will remarks with irony, "I'll just look completely devoid of reason. Or do you think that it seems sensible if I ask another man – a serial killer, who pinned human remains on my fishing gear, turned my illness into a gory madness, burnt poor, misfortunate Georgia alive and cut my surrogate daughter into pieces – to kiss me?!"

"This is part of the plan. If you are not direct enough, he'll never believe that you've really lost control of your reactions. He'll see that you are still on your guard, and all your efforts will be in vain."

Will covers his face again with his hands. "Alright, alright," he groans. "Just leave me alone for now."

* * *

Doctor Chilton has just finished his lunch not far from his hospital - he would never eat that disgusting filth served at the canteen in the institute, he prefers to visit the nearby restaurant. He arrives at the entrance of the hospital now and takes his mails from the gate keeper, then walks to his office while going over his letters. However, he completely forgets about his post when he enters the room and sees that he has an uninvited visitor.

Freddie Lounds is standing at the windows of the office, and rotates one of the stag-head statuettes placed on a shelf next to the large glass-panes.

She wears a checked green costume with a matching pair of dark stockings and grass-colored high heels. Her red locks – covering her slim shoulders – glitter from the temporal play of sunlight like dancing flames. Chilton must admit that he has never seen anyone this pretty – and annoying at the same time. He walks up to her quickly.

"Who let you in?!" He asks angrily and twists the sculpture out of her hand. "This is my private office – in case you didn't notice."

"That sexy blonde secretary of yours was quite fascinated when I mentioned her that I was working on a praising article about your heroic involvement in the Gideon case," she answers while peering at the ornaments of the room. "It makes me wonder, though, what you might have told her about the incident if she instantly believed my lame excuse and escorted me readily to your office."

He suddenly grasps her by the elbow and pushes her against a bookshelf with such force that one of the encyclopedias falls to the ground with a loud flop.

"If you ever dare talk to the personnel of this institute again without my expressed permission, I'll strangle you with my bare hands!" he seethes.

"Don't get mad, dear," she gives a painfully weak, but scornful grin. "I did not say anything true about the two of us to the poor, naive girl. I saw how pretty she was and I made a guess that you fuck her sometimes, so I only talked to her about the imaginary article."

Chilton keeps her against the bookshelf with the same intensity. "And – in reality – what are you doing here?" he snarls.

"I thought you might want to hear the results of my interview with Hannibal Lecter. But if I disturb the peace of your sacred private office that much, I can leave right now."

He releases his tight grip around her arm. "Alright, sweet love, let's forget about your intrusion this time, but I suggest you should take care not to interfere in my work here if you don't want to get into trouble."

She massages her elbow at the place where he held her so violently. "You are the most gallant, charming man I've ever met," she taunts while adjusting her greenish blouse.

"Talk about the questioning of Lecter. Could you find out something advantageous from his answers?"

"I was very careful when asking him. I told him that the interview was about the Gideon case and the expert opinion he wrote on it. I stated tons of uninteresting questions about you and Gideon, and when I saw that he starts to get tired with the topic, his replies turn mechanic and monotonous, I chose that perfect moment to insert a few questions about Will Graham. I pretended that I accidentally stumbled upon the fact amongst my memories that Graham is kept in your institute as well. So I conveniently turned the direction of the conversation towards the present days while I was being very astute and cautious..."

"Let's skip the bragging and jump to the part where you detected something useful," the doctor interrupts in a chilly manner.

"Sorry, darling, but there aren't any." She makes a disappointed grimace. "He said that Graham could be considered as one of his patients and that the doctor-patient confidentiality did not allow him to answer any questions concerning him."

Chilton takes a sullen sigh. "So, still nothing. It's sad enough that I screwed up the questioning of Graham and he did not say any pieces of worthy information to me, but we lost our chance with Lecter as well. What now?"

"Let's switch roles," she suggests. "You ask Lecter, and leave Will Graham for me."

"No. Graham has been already suspicious, I saw it on him. If you appear at his cell and start asking questions, he'll soon put the pieces together. The same goes for Lecter. He is too careful to drop useful information on a second inquiry."

"Let's try our luck with Jack Crawford, then," she replies confidently. "I want to know as soon as possible what these three are up to. We need to ask Crawford somehow."

"Crawford has dangerous influence in higher circles, it would be a careless decision to risk attracting his attention like that."

"That's not completely true," she replies. "He might have all the connections to make our lives suck, but only if he realizes that we are trying to play him, but how would he find out? I have a history with him, and he wasn't particularly fond of me in the past. Supposedly, there's no way he would trust me now, but why would he think that _you_ are trying to machinate a plot? You can safely talk to him about Graham and Lecter, and you don't need to worry about catching his suspicion."

"And, of course, it wouldn't disturb you in the least, if he nevertheless found out about my intent and thwarted me." The doctor remarks. He entwines her waist with his arms, pulling her closer. "You would stay invisible in the background and remain available to scheme another plan while he destroys me."

"I like how you read my mind, love." Freddie curves the corners of her mouth into a sneer. "Anyway, I'm pretty certain that Crawford is the weakest link. He is less shrewd than he believes himself to be. Please, try to talk to him. If you can get even a hint of what's going on, it could help us create our next step."

"Alright, sweetheart, I'll do that, but only because you are the most adorable woman I've ever met," Chilton says mockingly, and then kisses her forcefully on her lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: The Question**

After the conversation with Crawford on Tuesday, Will seems to lose even the last fragments of hope that still remains about the success of their plan. Until this point, he tried to tell himself that there is at least a tiny chance that Jack's idea might eventually work out, but he feels unable to believe it anymore. Touching the doctor's hand or confessing him some deeper friendly emotions might be possible to succeed with – though certainly the limits of his ability – but how should he give an authentic performance about a desire for a relationship he can't even imagine?

_It will be laughable. Why would I ask such a question to a serial killer who ruined my life? This will either make me look like a pathetic dupe or destroy everything I have achieved so far, since it makes too obvious that I'm just playing a role_, he frets. _I won't be able to perform my task in a credible way. Jack really should have searched for another person to execute this plan - someone who is capable of deception on a more convincing level._

However, he suspects that Crawford was right about the fact that he should speed up things if he ever wants to succeed. He is sure that if he was too slow with the steps of the plan, it might give Doctor Lecter the opportunity to get back inside his head in a dangerous and hurtful way. Will knows that the doctor is still able to influence him and play with his perception of reality, and he doesn't want to take that risk. _If I accelerate the plan and drag Hannibal into a world we are both unprepared for, I might have a just slight chance of winning this cruel game. A long shot, of course, but the only way to get back to the light._

This recognition doesn't sweep away his doubts, though. He still considers himself inappropriate for talking about a love relationship to the doctor. It's absolutely one of his weakest skills – to get engaged in social relations, and he has no idea how to make it look believable. His last hope is that the touch weeks ago and when he kissed Hannibal's hand were enough to declare to the man that he was interested in a closer and more intimate relationship, so it won't seem to come out of the blue when he asks the doctor about an opinion of it.

He tries to practice his lines and the tone he should use but soon gives it up because he finds that his performance just gets worse and worse with each repetition. It doesn't help either that – as time passes and the Friday approaches – he oddly starts to become nervous about how miserably he looks.

He has never been interested in the way he looked. Anything that had something to do with the planning of his outfit or the arranging of his appearance has just been an obligatory routine to fulfill his duties as a member of the society, and he has never had any second thoughts about it, beyond what was necessary. It's so surprising for him to start to care, that he can hardly believe that it's really happening to him.

When he stands in the bathroom of the institute and looks into the dirty, blurred mirror, he worriedly presses the bags under his eyes with his fingertips, appalled at his jaundiced paleness, his bloodshot eyes and his sunken cheeks. He wishes that the t-shirts he gets from the hospital were with longer sleeves and he could cover the dark contusions the injections leave on his skin and the swollen bruises on his wrists caused by the chains.

He tries to tell himself that it's not like he would go out on a real date or anything, but yet, he feels awful. Hannibal always looks so composed, so perfect, and it seems foolish that he dares ask a man like the doctor about an interest in a romantic relationship. He can only imagine an elegant, beautiful lady as Hannibal's partner - someone who has the same gracefulness, refined taste and impeccable manners as the doctor. Will is so apparently not a suitable person for even dreaming about a slight chance of winning Hannibal's such interest, that he considers it explicitly awkward that he will have to advance the idea.

He can clearly imagine the contempt the doctor might feel after hearing his question, and how he might remark that Will must have some nerve to ask something like this from _him_. Will conjectures that Hannibal will be utterly shocked by the stupidity and impudence – simply by the fact that Will believes that the idea of a closer relationship between the two of them is a sensible thing to ask.

Not to mention, if the doctor has an on-going relationship with someone Will doesn't even know about. How intrusive and unfortunate his question will seem in that case?

He comes to the conclusion that he really shouldn't have ever listened to Crawford.

* * *

Will spends the Friday afternoon with pitiful attempts to adjust the curls of his hair and his ill-fitting hospital clothes, but in the end he is not sure if he improved his appearance at all. He must look like the same deplorable wretch as before. He is glad that the tiles of the room are not glossy enough to show his reflection, and this way he cannot see the state he is in.

He hopes that he will quickly get over with Crawford's crazy questions, and Hannibal won't make a big deal about it, only saying a few sentences, like how the whole idea is out of the question or how abominable the idea is and not much else. He tries to prepare himself mentally for any kind of answer, but he doesn't feel ready for a long and detailed response from the doctor, so he deeply wishes that Hannibal would settle for a brief and not too complicated reaction.

As the door of the cell opens, and his guards bring his chains, Will forces every muscle of his face to look calm and disinterested. He doesn't want the doctor to figure out the nature of the situation as soon as he steps a foot in the room.

However, when the shackles are clicked on and Hannibal is allowed to enter the cell, Will finds it almost impossible to hide his uneasiness.

Doctor Lecter wears a stylish grey suit with a white shirt and a crimson necktie, looking so neat and fastidious – almost unworldly flawless – as he walks up to the younger man with his measured, equally paced steps that it seems to Will that all his worries are going to be justified.

When the guards leave the cell, Will expects the doctor to pull the chair to its usual place, but Hannibal doesn't search for it. He sits down right next to Will on the bed instead, as he did last time when embracing the younger man.

Will is secretly very thankful for the gesture since it makes him feel appreciably less miserable about Crawford's plan. He almost gives a smile but quickly suppresses it, deeming it kind of puzzling and humiliating that he feels this happy just because of the doctor's closeness. But he does, anyhow, and joyfully makes a reach for one of the plastic containers, in which Hannibal present him with the first part of his dinner.

While Will eats the foods, the pleasant taste relaxes him even more. It only occurs to him at the end of the meal that maybe he should not have eaten like a starving wolf – a dignified, well-mannered style of consuming his dinner would have probably been more appealing to Hannibal. This thought about his awkwardness makes him stress over Crawford's plan again.

Though he promised himself last week that he would not say anything, he still mumbles an uncertain '_thank you_' when giving back the empty plastic bowls to the doctor.

"I hope it was to your liking," Hannibal answers with distant politeness.

"It was alright."

For a while, Hannibal just sits next to him, watching him without a stir. Then he slightly moves his right hand in the direction of Will's chained arms, and, as he sees that Will doesn't give any disinclined reactions, he puts his palm directly on Will's fingers and takes his hand.

Will cannot stop himself from making a weak smile when feeling the soft warmth of the doctor's comforting touch. The beginning is much more inviting than he expected.

He needs some time to become able to let go of the pleasurable intimacy of the situation, but when he finally does, he thinks that he is ready for Jack's questions. He asks quietly, "Have you ever kissed another man?"

To his greatest relief, the doctor doesn't seem astonished or revolted from the question. In fact, Hannibal remains so calm as if they were talking about the weather.

"No. I haven't even touched any other man the way I do to you now," he answers, referring to his hand wrapped around Will's nervously trembling fingers.

"Me neither," Will says though he suspects that this confession doesn't help Crawford's plan, but he wants to delay the second half of his role – when he arrives to the part where he should ask the doctor about the possibility of a future closer relationship. "Have you fantasized about doing it?" he asks, in order to delay the inevitable.

"Not particularly." Hannibal gives his even-tempered answer.

"And, and have you dreamt about it? Or something of the kind...?"

"No." The doctor's tone of voice is still imperturbable. "Is there any aim to your questions or are you just curious about my sexual orientation?"

Will sees that he cannot hinder the moment anymore, so he starts with it. "Er, yes, there is," he mutters with an unfortunate look on his face. He wonders how the situation could be less appropriate for Crawford's question. It's apparently the stupidest thing to ask after hearing the doctor's responses. He nevertheless tries to continue, "You... you... think... do you think... do you think that... er, do you suppose that..."

Hannibal watches him patiently, waiting for a coherent sentence to emerge from the miserable jumble of words. Will sees that he will never get to the end of his question if he keeps gazing at the doctor, so he turns in the direction of the nightstand and tries to imagine that he is talking to Alana and not Doctor Lecter, recalling her light-colored eyes, her dark hair and her vivid voice. It helps a lot.

"Do you think that we can be more than friends one day?" he asks with sudden self-assurance. "Lovers, perhaps?"

There is a moment of silence. Will turns back to the doctor with careful slowness. The question doesn't seem to have thrown Hannibal off balance, or even if it did, the doctor hides it perfectly and keeps a straight face.

"I don't think that it would be a good idea." That's all Hannibal says in his formal tone of voice, without any sign of hesitation. However, he holds Will's hand securely and doesn't seem to intend to let go.

Will has absolutely no clue as to how to go on or what to say. He feels his recently-gained self-confidence drift away, and his heart drops. It's the first time Hannibal has turned down any of his attempts, and how confidently and directly he did! The younger man expected a negative response and believed he was ready to hear it, yet, he feels so numb now that he can barely form any clear thoughts in his head.

"I, I'm sorry for even mentioning. It was... it was stupid of me to ask. We shouldn't talk about it anymore," he blunders out, though he is certain that it's not what he needs to say according to Crawford's plan, but it's the only thing he is able to shape into sentences.

"Yes, we should." The doctor still doesn't loosen his grip on Will's fingers. "I'm averse to giving such a rejecting answer, but, in my esteem, it would be dangerous for both of us to get involved in a relationship which can be controlled by neither one of us. I honestly think that we shouldn't risk it."

"Yes, of course. You are perfectly right," Will replies hastily, hoping that the consenting response will make Hannibal cease talking about the topic.

The result is the opposite. The doctor slightly lifts up his pale, almost invisible eyebrows. "If you agree with me, why did you ask the question in the first place?"

"Well, I, I didn't think it over," Will mutters, his cheeks flushing.

"Was the reason for asking the question the desire for said relationship or not?"

"It was," Will replies with an even deeper shade of blush. "But of course, if you don't want it, we don't need to speak about it ever again," he adds quickly.

"Aren't you worried that such a relationship could hurt us both?" The doctor asks, still holding on to talk about Will's question in spite of the younger man's conspicuous efforts to put a pause to it.

"I didn't deliberate over it; I was just asking what on my mind was."

"I would like you to say what you think about this at the present moment."

Will tries to create a shrewd reply that might help Crawford's plan, but he doesn't manage it. He shouldn't lie, but he cannot tell the truth either... His mind is filled with a chaos of thoughts, and he can't find any politic idea.

"I don't know," he admits finally, at a loss of any crafty response.

"As for me," Hannibal explains calmly, "it worries me that – even in friendship – we've presumably reached a point where we are both capable of causing real pain to each other. There has never been anyone who could truly hurt me. It's something I'm not keen to let change."

Will turns his hands so that he can interlock his fingers with the doctor's. "I would not hurt you," he murmurs.

"I cannot trust you on this. Especially not after you tried to kill me at the Hobbs house."

Will just utters what his first thought is without consideration, "You are right – I could never trust you either, that's for sure."

He just realizes that, at some point, Hannibal moved his other arm closer as well, and now, after hearing the younger man's answer, he is grabbing Will's chained wrists with both hands firmly. It makes Will suddenly feel trapped. There is something frightening in the way the doctor clamps his fingers around his lower arms - it's raw and uncontrollable like the deadly grip of a carnivorous animal. Will senses that the pace of the older man's breathing quickens. The black of Hannibal's eyes starts to grow and glimmer with a fearful thrill.

"If you were mine, I would protect you from the world." The doctor's voice is very low, but Will can still clearly understand every word. "Those boring, colorless everyday people want to turn you into one of their own kind. They don't recognize how perfect you are and cannot understand you. They either try to use your skills for their pitiful selfish purposes, or they are simply afraid of you and try to avoid you. You are special. I wouldn't let those nobodies get the best of you. I would show you the world you could live in, the places you could visit, the dreams you could fulfill–"

Hannibal runs out of breath. Will has never seen the other man like this, an alien fire burning in his eyes, pale like a ghost, inhaling as heavily as after a trying physical exertion. It's undoubtedly scary. Yet at the same time, a wave of warm affection spreads in Will's heart, however absurd the blending of the two feelings seem, and he gets into an emotional state he has never experienced before.

"But you wouldn't do the same for me," Hannibal goes on, his intonation steady and cold now. He regained his usual balance in a blink of an eye. "You would sell me out if I let you win my trust."

"Why are you saying this?" Will's voice wavers.

"Because that's what I saw in your eyes at the Hobbs house." All at once, the doctor removes his hands from the younger man's wrists. The disappearance of the eager clinging leaves a sad, aching imprint in Will's heart.

He believes that the doctor is really going to leave him this time, but Hannibal doesn't move away. He even puts back his palm softly on Will's arm and then takes his hand again.

"It's alright," the doctor says gently. "It's who you are, and I don't want you to change. But it's the reason why I cannot trust you."

Will hangs his head, and tries not to give in to the overwhelming rush of emotions coming to life in his heart. He is not even sure what he feels. Maybe, some kind of twisted, unnatural happiness that tries to burn every sober thought like fire.

He spends a long minute waiting for the feeling to go away, and he turns back to the doctor only later, when it finally does.

"Okay, I get it. Your point is that I don't trust you, and you don't trust me, and it's unalterable," he tells Hannibal with cynical bitterness. "But then, why are we sitting here, holding hands like some eight-year-old kids falling into love in the school yard?"

"Maybe we shouldn't."

"Yes, I think we shouldn't." Will suddenly realizes that he just keeps saying what on his mind is as he normally does, and he forgot about his role again. He is certain that Crawford would kill him if he heard this part of the conversation, but Will had enough of the plan for the day, and he simply goes on with his own objective. "It seems kind of contradictory to me."

"It is, indeed."

"Why don't you just leave me?" Will becomes weary. He really doesn't care about Crawford's plan anymore. "I can't believe that you enjoy your sick game so much that you are unable to give up on me. What's in it for you? Why don't you just go and live your life, letting me suffer alone here in my cell? Find another unfortunate moron who would trust you the way I did, and play your cruel tricks on them, or whatever pleases you. Just go."

Hannibal squeezes Will's hand.

"You don't understand me," the doctor answers in a deep-toned whisper. "You don't understand me at all. Why don't you let yourself see me, feel my thoughts, get to know me completely? You could do it, you have the skills to understand... What is it that stops you?"

Will doesn't say a thing, just shakes his head mutely.

"Is it an incessant attachment to the false picture of me because you still want to keep on seeing it?" Hannibal asks. "Are you hoping that it won't go away if you don't try to understand me?"

"No. I'm not interested in hollow deceptions."

The doctor gives a distant, almost involuntary smile, and it shows Will that his reply was important for Hannibal.

"You are much more rational than that," the doctor remarks contentedly. "What's the reason then?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Hannibal nods in acceptance and keeps silent for a while, starting to stroke Will's knuckles with his fingertips. Every slight movement of the doctor's hand sends waves of unnamable pleasure through Will's body. He knows that he shouldn't like the feeling this much, but he cannot control it.

There is some elusive beauty in it, seeing someone the way he sees Hannibal. He has never felt anybody this close to him, and, yet, this far. The doctor is somehow magnificent to him – in a sense, perfect, but cold and murderous like a storm of ice-shards. And every sensation he gives Will has the same duality.

"Would you ever come to visit me if I were in your place, if I were the captive of this cell?" Hannibal asks, his voice soft and quiet. "Or would you just do what you suggested me: live your life and try to forget about me?"

Will takes a deep sigh. "You know the answer, don't force me to reply."

The doctor turns his head away, silent, but doesn't cease caressing Will's hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Freddie's Idea**

Doctor Chilton walks along the corridors of the Baltimore State Hospital, glimpsing briefly at the cells and the patients. He slows down only at Will Graham's cell. At first, he wants to bypass it, but then he changes his mind and stops at the entrance.

Graham is sitting in the corner of his bed, gawking at some small spider crawling on the white ceiling of the room. He doesn't react to the doctor's arrival.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Doctor Chilton," Will greets the other man without taking his eyes off of the tiny creature climbing across the walls.

Chilton takes a second to deliberate whether he should speak his mind or not. Ultimately, he sees no reason to avoid it, so decides in favor of it.

"I talked to Special Agent Crawford this morning, and he mentioned some of your concerns about me," the doctor says, keeping careful pauses between his words. "Do you have a specific reason for not trusting me, or you just simply don't like me?"

"Don't take it personally," Will responds with listless boredom. "As you know, I can visualize too clearly how other people's minds work, and it's not much fun."

Chilton leans his left shoulder leisurely against the rails of the cell, keeping his eyes on Graham. "Was that an answer to my question?"

"It was."

"And what is it that you see about me that seems dishonest?"

"Believe me, you don't want to hear it."

"Do you suppose that I might get offended?"

"You can bet on it. But the main reason why you should not hear it from me is that these are things you might not even know about yourself, and I'm definitely not the right person to enlighten them for you."

The first thing Chilton learned while working with psychopaths was that they always tried to creep inside their interrogator's mind. Especially narcissists and sadists. They could not bear the thought of not controlling the situation; they always had to be the one who secretly dominated the conversation.

At first, he found it kind of embarrassing how those arrogant monsters tried to trick him into giving away personal details and to make him volunteer his weak spots. As time passed, he started enjoying the sick game. Once, he made a sadistic sociopath believe that he had a wife and three children, and it was almost amusing to see how that simpleton struggled to fill his stories with disgusting details of torturing small kids and sweet house-wives, steadily hoping that sooner or later, the doctor might erupt in frenzied rage. _Pathetic_.

But there is something different about Graham. Will is not playing a game for power or control. He holds back information, but Chilton does not feel that the reason for it could be some pre-planned tactic. The doctor deems it probable that Will indeed just wants to avoid the danger that might hide in the communication of those perceptions.

There's sadness and loneliness in Will's eyes, an unusual mixture of apathy and hidden suffering... However, a total lack of guilty conscience. He also speaks out, showing his thoughts too clearly. A rare combination for a serial killer. Graham is either very talented in pretending, or he is nothing like Chilton has ever seen during his years of practice.

"Well, these are your perceptions, and if you don't want to share them with me, I accept that," the doctor replies after a minute spent considering Will, "But it would be much appreciated if you don't go spreading them to Agent Crawford. As you see, he has no reason to doubt my good intention; he even told me the slanders you've uttered about me. So it'd probably be the best for both of us if you stopped. Don't forget that I run this institute."

"Should I take that as a threat?" Will asks boldly.

"You can take it however you want. I just want to make sure you understand that you are locked up here for a very long time, supposedly for the rest of your life... And you really don't need an enemy here like me."

Will doesn't answer, and, after waiting for reply in vain, Doctor Chilton turns and walks away.

* * *

Will sits down opposite Crawford in the interview room.

Jack feels curious to hear the results of last week. Doctor Lecter's reaction to the direct questions might be of crucial importance in judging if his plan can ever succeed. Of course, there is always a chance that Will botched the inquiry and Hannibal didn't give any useful answer – but Crawford hopes that it's not the case.

He tries to find out from the expression on the younger man's face if the talk with Hannibal resulted in anything worthwhile, but he cannot read Will's features. Graham seems as lethargic and desolate as always.

"I did what you told me to," Will starts the conversation with this statement instead of any kind of greeting. "I asked Doctor Lecter if he could imagine becoming more than friends, maybe lovers, and he said that he didn't. And he declared that he would never trust me. So, I think it's time to put an end to your plan. It's not working."

"Wait," Crawford lifts up his hands. "You can't expect it to prove successful this soon. How did this happen, by the way?"

"He said that he wasn't interested in kissing men, that he knew he could never trust me, he had seen it on me at the Hobbs house that I would only let him down, and that he would never risk a relationship with me. I was right, your plan turned out to be in fact insane and pointless after all." Will straightens his back, his eyes glistening with mirthless complacency.

Jack imperturbably asks, "Did you two talk about the physical or the spiritual aspect of a potential romantic relationship?"

"Only about the emotional things."

"Was it you who said that you meant the emotional part, or did he interpret the question this way without your explanation?"

"I didn't explain anything, I just asked the questions you told me."

"Okay, so it was he who started considering this aspect."

"I guess so." The younger man shrugs.

"Will, this is important!" Crawford leans forward excitedly. "You asked him about kissing other men and directly afterwards about becoming more than friends... He could have taken the question in a completely different way, so why didn't he?"

"I have no idea. Is this really important?"

Crawford finds it odd that Will seems to be this incredulous and spiritless after such an encouraging sign from the doctor. The younger man even looks like he doesn't really want the plan to be moving along. He should be optimistic, but he acts like he doesn't care at all.

"Yes. I think it's a very encouraging sign," Crawford answers with a slight frown.

The cold nonchalance disappears from Will's eyes. "Why would it be?" he asks, almost disappointed. Jack sees that the younger man would have truly been relieved by the fact if the plan had turned out to be unsuccessful and worthless.

"His first thought was a serious relationship and that it might be dangerous for him," Jack explains.

"So what? It just shows how suspicious he is, and that's all."

"No. It shows that he has a reason to be afraid of getting involved with you in a relationship like that. So he sees a chance that he might become vulnerable to you if you get any closer to him. And it means that my plan is perfect. If you are skilled enough, sooner or later, you'll be able to succeed."

Will groans despondently. "Okay, perhaps, you are right," he replies with reluctance, "But we don't have a next step. I can't do anything to move forward with your crazy plan, since he told me plainly that he did not want to be anything more than friends."

Crawford patters with his fingers on the table for a while, and then he answers calmly, "It's time to kiss him this Friday."

The reply gives Will a start. "What the hell?!" he bursts with astonishment. "No way! He said he wasn't interested in being lovers, and I'm certain of that."

"He only said that he didn't want to be involved in a sort of relationship with you, but that doesn't mean that you two can't do _things_."

"Now you've stepped over the line." Will gets up from his chair. "Do you really think that I'll act like some kind of prostitute? What kind of person do you think I am?"

He turns away with a loud jingle of his chains. Crawford holds him back by the elbow.

"This plan is working, don't you see? You just have to be strong, and you'll win," he says lively. "We couldn't even dream about such a success. You are doing it brilliantly."

"Let go of me." Will tries to shake Crawford's grasping hand off of his arm. "I don't care what the odds are. You want me to do an ignominious deception that crosses the limit."

"It's just a brief kiss on his lips, nothing extreme. You don't even have to talk to him or tell any lies. It's not so vile at all."

"Damn you." Will can finally free his arm and steps to the door. He opens the panel. "Guards!"

"Wait, wait." Crawford hastily pulls him back. "Think of Georgia, Abigail, and all the other poor girls. We need to prove that he is guilty; we need to obtain evidence against him. You'll never be able to let this go if you don't do everything in your power to save the lives of his prospective victims. I know this much."

Will looks at him, and the dark emptiness appearing in his eyes makes Crawford suddenly feel uneasy.

"I'll do what you want." Will's voice is colorless, "But I don't want to speak to you any more today."

He steps out of the room towards the guards who are approaching to escort him back to his cell.

* * *

The violet beams of the sunset paint the walls of Chilton's office with a shade of purple. The buzzing of the engine of a leaving nurse's car is audible in the room. The doctor is sitting by his desk, with Freddie Lounds on his lap, and they are kissing intently.

Freddie suddenly breaks the kiss and springs up from the doctor's embrace. She takes a few steps backwards while she evens a crease on her skirt. "Let's talk about my planned article first. Did you speak to Crawford today?"

Doctor Chilton doesn't listen to her; he picks up one of the pens from his desk and starts to sway it in his hand absent-mindedly.

Freddie waits a bit for an answer, and then, seeing that the doctor didn't pay attention to her former words, she asks, "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Do you think that Will Graham really killed all those people?"

"What?" She raises her eyebrows because the unprecedented question surprises her. "Do you have any reason to doubt it?"

Chilton doesn't respond, just balances the pen between two fingers in contemplation.

"He is a sicko, take my word for it. I've always seen it. You should just have a look at the early articles I wrote about him," Freddie explains confidently. "Even before the FBI revealed his crimes, I'd already known who he truly was."

The doctor doesn't seem convinced by her reply.

"I've read all the files I was allowed to," he says meditatively. "There are some inconsistencies about those murders–"

"What inconsistencies? Are you kidding me?" she interrupts him with a haughty smile. "He prepared fishing sets from his victims!"

"The psychopathological background of at least two of the cases differs from the diagnoses Graham's attending doctors wrote about him."

"So what? These kinds of psychological results are far from reliable, and you know that."

"Look at the Georgia Madchen case for example. Tricking the mechanism of complicated electric equipment to burn somebody alive... This is not the work of a delusional maniac."

"Okay, that one could have been caused by a technical accident at the hospital's fault. Or, maybe, Graham was slipping in and out of delusions, and he had some clear moments. Look, he deceived even the whole FBI for a while. Don't let him fool you too. He is good for this, baby, trust me."

"What if he had an accomplice?" Doctor Chilton lets the pen fall onto the desk from his hand and leans back on his chair. "Perhaps, that's what Crawford and Lecter are after. They want to make Graham give away his accomplice's name."

"Well, that doesn't explain why Crawford did not tell you the truth, and why I had seen him sneaking around Lecter's house during a dinner party, giving me a reason for calling you the first time. There must be more to it."

"Crawford might suspect Lecter. He might think that Lecter and Graham committed those crimes together."

"It doesn't make sense either," she shakes her head. "If Crawford suspects Lecter, why is he trying to help him meet his accomplice more often?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"So, what about today?" Freddie returns to her initial question. "Did you talk to Crawford or not?"

"I did. But he only told me what we knew. Things like that Lecter could help Graham see the truth hiding amongst the lies Graham built up around the real happenings, and he mentioned some of Lecter's professional achievements."

"That is just the cover for the public," she answers with an impatient flick of her hand. "Were you able to identify anything useful?"

"Nothing."

Freddie pouts her lips with disappointment. She spends a while walking up and down the room, pondering, and then she abruptly turns back to Chilton.

"I know what the problem is," she announces. "We tried to go the almost ethical way, and it doesn't really fit our profile, does it? It's time to change methods, honey."

"What do you mean?"

Freddie sets her glossy black purse in the middle of Chilton's desk, casually pushing the doctor's files aside, and starts to search for something in it. When she finally finds what she was looking for, she pulls it out of the handbag. She shows her tape recorder to the doctor.

"You go into the interview room next Tuesday before Crawford's arrival, fix this under the table, record Crawford's conversation with Graham, and here we go." She gives a self-complacent smirk.

Chilton stares at her.

"Are you completely out of your mind?!" he asks after a moment of shocked silence. "You must be crazy to even think of something like that. Do you have an idea what this would do to me if anyone found out about it? The reputation of this institute and my career–"

"Why would anyone be aware of it?"

"It doesn't matter. We cannot risk even a slight chance."

"You can make all the evidence disappear that could prove that you are behind the whole scheme," she smiles encouragingly. "With the recorded conversation, we'll surely have the key to the secret, and I can write my awesome article. I honestly like this idea. Why don't you?"

"Because I would never record my patients' confidential dialogues without their permission."

"Stop whining like a girl. Imagine the quick success we could achieve."

Doctor Chilton crosses his arms with a stern look on his face. "I won't pry into the private conversations of my hospital's clients."

"You weren't this concerned about ethics when you messed up that wretched Gideon's mind just to earn some fame with having the Chesapeake Ripper as a captive of your grandiose institute."

A vein starts to pulsate on the doctor's neck, and his jaw stretches from fury. He plucks the tape recorder out of Freddie's hand and places it back into her purse. "You should leave now," he says with unnaturally strained features.

When she doesn't make a move, the doctor grabs the handbag from the desk and flings it at her. "Get the hell out of my office. Now!"

The bag and its contents fall onto the floor with annoying jingling. Freddie kneels down to collect her belongings with a displeased curl of her lips.

"I should've known that you were a coward," she hisses while pushing back her nail polish and a bunch of keys into the handbag. "I should've seen it from the start."

"Get out," Chilton snarls.

"You are a poor excuse for a man." She stuffs her tape recorder and the rest of her fallen personal items back into her purse and then gets up from the ground. As she is standing opposite the doctor again, she must see by the stony expression on his face that her insults don't have any effect on his decision because she completely changes her tone. "Oh, I'm so sorry, my darling. Why don't we just sit down and talk this over? My idea is good, and I can make you see it–"

The doctor gives her a grisly look, then turns to his desk and snatches his tablet. He quickly dials the direct number of the gate keeper.

"Put me through to the head of the security," he orders. When he hears the familiar voice of the guard-in-command through the line, he informs him coldly, "I caught a tabloid journalist lurking around my office. Send some of your men over, and throw her out of the building. And, by the way, you don't need to deal gently with her."


End file.
